


Castle Upon Camlann

by ashforge



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Baptism, Bath Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Cock Wizardry, Cunnilingus, Dragon King Very Strong, Engagement, Everything Is Canon In the Moon Cell, F/F, Impregnation, Mild Erotic Cannibalism, Mordred (Alter) Timeline, Pregnancy, Scissoring, Semi-Public Sex, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, Wedding, Wishful Thinking, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-04 02:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge
Summary: 「Iam theKing of Knights.King Arthurisme. 」





	1. Chapter 1

[ camlann ]

_It’s hot._

I had been on battlefields my whole life.  I wasn’t a stranger to this heat.  The wet heat of your blood and sweat beneath your armor.  But I can’t seem to think of anything other than the heat.  Her sword had been knocked from her hand, and my body seized the opportunity.  I brought my sword down in an arc, and it connected firmly to the junction of her neck and shoulders.  I brace myself for impact.

The holy spear gores my body, but missed everything but flesh and bone.  It skirt my side, as her blood spewed onto my face.  It’s hot, her blood is hot.  My body is hot.  My sword is lodged into her body, and her eyes slowly lose life.

She stares at me with a reluctant acceptance.  Blood is filling her lungs, and drips from her lips.  I see in that sweltering moment, a glimpse of relief.  And –

I feel so guilty. / _I’m hot._  / She tries to say something, but cannot. / _I’m so hot._

I hold my beautiful father in my hands. /  _I might die of this fever._  / I know I was never meant to be king. / _I feel like I’m boiling._

Is she at peace now?

I’m tearing my armor off, trying to find a shred of peace.  Maybe, I think, if I can just get out of this armor, I could think.  If I could get out of this heat.  But it’s so hot.

I think – _I think her blood soaked clothes would be cooler._ / I must be responsible for what I’ve done. / _Her armor looks so much lighter than mine._  / I was not meant to be king. / _In the reflection of the armor – we look the same._  / If **Mordred** was not meant to be king…

[ ??? ]

 

I awoke with a start.  You would think I’d be used to intrusive dreams like this, but every time I had them, I felt sick.  Tumbling out of bed and onto a dusty floor, I searched for something to empty my nausea into.  The focus of this task had distracted me, something that probably was the least safe thing I could do.  I found an empty pot and vomited until the contents of last nights dinner had filled the pot to the brim.

Only then did my perception widen.  I was not in my room in Chaldea.  It was dark, and smelled like fresh earth, and my knees sank into a dirt floor.  As soon as my danger senses began to kick in, the ceiling of the room lit with a flash.  Dozens of tiny candle lights filled the air, exposing what looked like an earthen cottage.  Behind me was a man I recognized.

“Well, I suppose my summoning you wasn’t so gentle,” Merlin chirped, with a faint smile on his lips.  He had a pair of steaming cups in his hands.  “It’s __my__ first time meeting you, but I suppose I should say ‘we meet again’?”

Wiping my mouth of any wetness left from my vomiting, I slowly rose to my feet.  “Something like that,” I answer, and I accept the cup he offered me.  The contents were a dark color, but it smelled powerfully herbal.  I took a seat back at the edge of the bed and waited for the drink to cool.  To my surprise, he remained silent while I did so.  Watching me closely, as if I were some sort of strange creature.

Although it was a welcome change in behavior, coming from Merlin, it freaked me out.  “You forcefully rayshifted me,” I said, breaking the silence.  “I suppose it has something to do with Mordred.”

Finally, he broke into one of his carefree grins.  As if my putting two and two together was an unspoken test given to me.  “Something like that,” he mimed me, taking a sip of his drink.  “I know of you, I saw you.  But I am a Merlin you were never meant to meet, as this is a time that was never meant to be.”

I wanted to say that I had run across a lot of those, but something about the airy tone in Merlin’s voice made me stop.  His eyes must have noticed the twitch in my throat and jaw, because his smile remained almost teasing.  Like he had so much to say but wanted to see if I could figure it out myself.  This type of sadistic Merlin was one I’m glad I didn’t meet every day.

“Look to your hand, and you will notice something strange.” Instead of giving an answer, he gave a hint, and I dumbly followed it.  Tilting my hand to the candle lights, I examined first my normal one and then to the other.

I nearly dropped the cup in my hand.  The Command Seal which had marked my authority as Master was completely faded, as if I had used all three commands already.  Then, to my arm, I noticed that I was in a rough spun dress and not a mystic code.  The conduit of my mana was gone, and my authority stripped.  Without this much, even on Merlin’s own leyline, I couldn’t even summon a single Servant.

When I looked up to him, his smile seemed apologetic.  “Perhaps it was the unnatural nature of this Britannia, or perhaps to draw you here fully required far more than I anticipated,” He mused, and leaned forward, pushing the bottom of the drink to my lips.  “You aren’t broken though, Ritsuka Fujimaru.  You merely need time.”

I gulped down the drink in my hands and gagged.  The root and herbal combination was so fiercely bitter the entire taste of vomit had been overwritten.  However, as I coughed into my palm, I felt my body heat.  A surge of mana coursed through me like lava.  “That’s great,” I breathed, rubbing my tingling skin.  “But what for?”

Merlin’s smile finally dropped.  “The King of Knights is dead, but somehow she continues to rule Camelot.”  He folded his arms over his chest.  “I cannot leave this tower, but this is something that has to be righted.”

My thoughts immediately go to the Lion King.  In that situation, Merlin wasn’t hands off.  Not like this.  I furrowed my brow.  “Can you – start from the beginning?” I asked, hesitantly.

“As best I can.”

 

 

The battle had concluded, and the participants gathered at a focal point.  Did they follow their king to victory or defeat?  On the field of bodies and iron, there was a single figure.  One body that stood out against the breaking dawn.  Bedivere approached, with relief in his heart, knowing the sight of his king’s profile.  When he was in arms length, his king turned.

There was something strange about it.  Seeing something that was unnatural and wrong.  Like seeing a painting too real to be fake.  Even though every piece was right, his stomach turned.  He was used to the vacant look in Artoria’s eyes, but this was different.  In an instant, fear set in.  A preys natural instinct to know that there was a predator right in front of it.

On the ground, he could see another body that looked exactly the same.  Cleaved from the neck into the torso, a body in Sir Mordred’s armor lingered on the blood soaked earth.  Even though the faces were exactly alike, his entire being felt racked with remorse.  Did he feel sorrow for Sir Mordred?  He realized his hand had been resting on the king’s elbow for some time.

“I’m so glad you survived, Sir Bedivere,” the king said, voice hoarse.  Reaching out, she grasped Bedivere’s extended hand, blindly unaware of his fear.  “After all of this, Sir Gareth.  Sir Mordred.  I would hate to lose another knight so close to me.”

Bedivere stared into the king’s eyes and found – nothing.  “Arthur.  You’re – Arthur, right?”  As the words left his lips, he knew he had made a mistake.  Like he had loosed a strung arrow.  The king’s expression shifted slightly, and her eyes dropped to the body strung out on the ground.

“Of course,” Arthur answered, and slowly she bent down to pick up Excalibur from the ground.  Her eyes seemed to linger on her reflection on the sword.  “No matter how you look at it, it’s me.”

 

It had been a several day journey from where Merlin could place me from his tower.  Parts of it, I did on foot, but mostly, I found farmers and travelers that would allow me to hitch a ride at the back of their carts.  He provided me enough in the way of money to not go hungry but not so much that I would make myself a target.  Even if I carried a wizard’s staff and was dressed like the common druid, being a woman by my lonesome was a dangerous thing.

Even still, with the weight of the sunlight on my skin, I found it hard to stay awake during long stretches of traveling.  The white noise of creaking wood and hoof beats sent me into such restful naps that when I awoke again, the noise surrounding the gates to Camelot gave me a shock.  I crawled over the barrels at the back of the cart to look at the destination.

I had seen Camelot before, of course, but it never lost its splendor.  Marble white walls that looked like a mirage, and the towers behind it that scrapped the sky.  I squinted at the harshness of the light against the flat white stone, and looked to the armed guardsmen inspecting each cart before entry.  A small queue formed to the side of those that would need additional screening, but most passed quickly.

“Oh, you’re up, druid?” Asked the man who was generous enough to give me a ride.  He was in his late sixties and grayed, but had a remarkably chiseled face.  He kept her company and safe for nearly three days, saying that he had a respect for the old magics.  My sleep addled mind struggled at the pronunciation of his name, being that it was Welsh.

“Yes, Cynwrig, thank you so much for your kindness,” I leaned over the edge of the front seating.  “This is Camelot, then?”

He hummed an affirmation.  “Safest city in all of Britannia.  King Arthur, God protect him, makes sure of that.” Cynwrig scratched his beard, “even a pretty little girl like you could go out at night without fear of blaggards.”

The line shrank steadily as each person and cart was inspected.  I yawned.  “Is he really that great?  The King, I mean.”  I knew it was probably a strange question to ask, but my ‘barbarian’ look could smooth it over.  As far as Cynwrig knew, I was from beyond Hadrian’s wall and completely ignorant of the political climates within.

All assumptions were right when he laughed, and tussled my hair.  “I’m an older man now, and I’ve seen my fair share of kings all over Britannia.  From Mercia to Wessex, and I will tell you this: there is no man like Arthur Pendragon, king of the Britons.”  Cynwrig puffed his chest, holding the reins to his cart firm.  “I feared the worst when the knights split during that mess at Camlann, but when he returned, it was like God had intervened for all of us.”

That was a strong statement.  One that left little room for argument.  I looked at Cynwrig carefully and was surprised not to see a single shred of doubt.  That was – strange.  I looked ahead, seeing that our turn to be processed would be soon.  If everything was perfect, just like if Artoria had been here, then things didn’t make sense.  Knowing what I knew.

“And what business do you have in Camelot, little Ritsuka?” He asked as the soldiers checked the cart.  I locked eyes with him.  His narrow stare made me realize that I had finally roused his suspicions.

I hesitated.  “I came to see the king.”

To my surprise, he just smiled as we passed through the yawning gates of Camelot.  “Then you’re in luck.  It’s before the noon hour.”  He whipped at the reins, and the horses broke into a trot.  “From sunbreak to noon, Arthur sits at the forum and listens to the supplications of the people.  His devotion to the citizens of Britannia is beyond reproach.”

I once again found myself wincing.  Could they have laid it on any thicker?  Why not have King Arthur drop from the skies with armfuls of gold for everyone too?  It was easy to do this job when it was a lewd queen taking over a nation.  The shoulder to shoulder crowd surrounding the castle filled my view.  Although I couldn’t see the center, my body simply knew where my goal was.  My eyes drifted to Cynwrig, who seemed proudly smug.

“This is your stop, druid.” He patted my shoulder as I shifted from his cart.  “If you get to speak to the king, recommend my delivery service, would you?”

I stretched, bringing life back into all of my limbs after the long ride.  “Of course.  But don’t complain with the extra business, okay?”  I teased him, shouldering the hefty staff Merlin entrusted me onto my shoulder.

After exchanging good byes with Cynwrig, I found that my war was an uphill one.  The girth of the supplicants nearly stretched half a kilometer, and I was on the fringe of it.  People of all ages and shapes lined up patiently, hoping for their chance to get a closer glance at the great king.  My strange appearance seemed to help enough to push my way closer in, but as the sun grew closer to the center of the sky, I began to worry if I’d ever make it to the center before the knights pushed the supplicants out.

When I finally made it there, I thought I had been prepared.  I was not.

Perhaps because people idolized Arthur, they didn’t notice what was in front of them.  If a King was perfect, it was easy to overlook quite a few things.  Seated on a carved wooden throne was King Arthur, the King of Knights and all of Britannia.  Except – not.  I had not only met Mordred before, but I’ve even summoned her in Chaldea.  I had summoned Artoria too.  I had known they were, essentially, exactly the same.  Mordred was a clone, after all.  But it was scary to see the similarities.

Mordred sat hunched onto her knees.  Her hair was down and greasy, wild and unkempt.  Her skin had lost it’s color, and heavy bags had formed under her eyes.  But that would’ve been expected with becoming king.  I shivered.  She was dressed in Artoria’s armor.  Sword marred and rusting.  Her azure cloak was resting on Mordred’s shoulders, torn and stiff with brown dried blood.

Long blackened horns had grown from the sides of her skull, beginning like rocky formations at her jawline.  In the sunlight, she looked similar to that altered Artoria Lancer.  There were some similarities, as the focused vacant stare in Mordred’s eyes swept across the crowd.  Mindlessly fixated.  But – but…

When her eyes met mine, I could see the difference.  Whether it was Mordred or not, that Arthur was insane.  I had seen Mordred’s eyes before.  I had seen Artoria’s eyes.  “Arthur” was neither one of those.  This was a person I had never met before.  Despite myself, I felt a natural instinct in me to flee.  What I was seeing was unnatural.

Seeing Mordred in Artoria’s skin had made me feel a distinct sense of despair.  One that no one else in that crowd had.  No one else could see it.  No one else could feel it.  It was a terror that only I could feel.  I let out a breath I had been holding.

“You there,” Arthur said suddenly, raising a hand up to point directly at me.  “You’re not here for supplication.”

A trickle of cold snaked down my back.  I didn’t know why I was afraid, but my body wouldn’t free me from it.  I knew Mordred.  I knew Artoria.  Surely, this person was not so different than the either of them.  With a trembling breath, I responded.

“No, lord, I come as a personal envoy of the court mage, Merlin.”

Her eyes dropped to my feet and drew up to my head, inspecting me.  My knotty wood staff, to the embarrassing replica of Merlin’s attire on my body.  Arthur leaned to the knight at her side, someone I felt like I knew but did not, and spoke something quietly.  Then, the knight began approaching me.

Although I didn’t trust Arthur, the gentle expression on the young man’s face put me at ease.  “If that’s the case, then your matters are court business.  Allow me to escort you inside.”  He extended a hand, which I took readily.  “It’s been some time since we heard from Merlin, I’m surprised.”

The soft lilac knight cut through the chaos like a knife, whisking me away with the ease and simplicity that only a Knight of the Round could do.  I stared at his profile, his feathery hair obscuring one side of his face, and tried to figure out where I remembered him from.  “Yes, he will be retiring formally at the post.  He sent me in his stead.”  I replied as we walked to the formal throne room.

Several other figures were already waiting.  Most appeared to be noblemen of various shapes, but there were more than a few heavily armored knights in tow.  “Interesting,” he answered with a laugh.  “Merlin is not known for students.”

“Sir Galahad,” one of the noblemen cleared his throat.  “You’ve returned without the king?”

The name gave me a start, and without subtlety, I whipped my head to look at the knight at my side.  With a name to my thoughts, it all lined up perfectly.  The lavender blush of his hair, to the dark stain of his armor.  Ah!  It’s Mash! I wanted to say, but I held my tongue.  My silent outburst went totally unnoticed as he removed himself from me and spoke to the nobleman.  With my eyes refocused, I could see the countless similarities.

Watching them distracted me enough that I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings.  An overwhelming odor of blood and sweat filled my nose, and tears prickled at my eyes.  I glanced over my shoulder.  Arthur stood only an arms reach away, and I could feel all the hair on my body rise.  At this distance, my survival instincts grew hazy.  My eyes couldn’t focus on anything.  Her onyx horns, and the muscular curve of her neck.

“Is everything in order?” Her voice sounded tired.  I wondered if anyone else could hear it.  “This session will begin.”

I breathed through my mouth and watched her stride to her throne.  There had been no break from noontime to now.  Alarm bells had begun to ring in my head, and I looked around the room to see if anyone else could see it.  But no – it was as if her governing had cast a spell upon them, stricken them blind.  When I looked at Arthur again, the dark circles under her eyes looked more pronounced than before.

Despite the speaking of the other people in the room, and the movement of Arthur’s lips, I felt like she was staring at me the entire time.  I understood I stood out in the crowd.  I had practically just threw myself at them.  But I didn’t know how to feel.  She leaned onto her hand, deep in thought.

“And what about this lost fox?” She asked, and all eyes were on me.

I swallowed.  I had repeated this story to myself for days, but when everyone was looking at me, I almost folded.  “I am an envoy from Merlin, the court mage.  It’s his wish that I carry on his duties in his stead,” I managed to say it all without stuttering.  It was good because there was a clear dissonance around the room.  No one would notice that Arthur was a woman, but I was fair game.

The king tilted her head to one side.  “Merlin is not known to take on students.  Perhaps you could explain to me your relationship with him.”

The muscles in my throat tensed, and my mouth opened.  I couldn’t think of a good answer fast enough.  But somehow, I was saved.  “When you think of Merlin, you think of indecency.  No doubt that this is a love child of his that he’s favoring,” a nobleman quipped, and even though he was trying to damage my reputation, I could’ve kissed him.  Of course!  Of course!  That nasty cockwizard couldn’t ever help himself.

“And what of it?” I gestured dramatically, and gave my best sultry expression.  “His favor should mean a lot to a non-mage.”  God, I sounded like a jackass.  Somewhere in my head, I wondered if poor Olga Marie ever thought that about herself.  Natural born mages were really of a different class.

For a tense moment, the room was filled with silence.  I lowered myself into a more casual stance, and leveled my eyes to the nobleman that spoke to me.  I wasn’t going to let myself get intimidated now.  A middle aged man was hardly the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.  No, he wasn’t even the scariest thing in the room.  I changed my focus to the king.

No matter how you looked at her, she was Mordred.  Even with where her skin split and started to grow horns, and even with her wearing Artoria’s clothing, I knew Mordred.  When I looked into her eyes, I wasn’t so sure.  Arthur – that’s what I was going to call her.  It’s what she demanded to be called anyway, but I had to repeat it internally.

“I don’t intend to come to you full of words but empty in hands.” I said as I dropped the head of the staff Merlin entrusted me.  Things like Mystic Codes were common place in this era, and developing a strong enough one was like breathing to him.  The cloak and staff would enable me to perform enough magic to get by, without hampering my internal circuits.

The sound of the wood touching the floor sounded like a crack of thunder, and in a moment, the entire room came alive.  Like a flood from the wood, the marble was coated with dark greenery which instantaneously blossomed into a symphony of color.  Flowers of all shapes and sizes rose up well beyond each mans knees, and draped along the frame of the king’s throne.  I lifted the staff up from the ground, with the sight of petals and the potent fragrance as my proof of inheritance.

Bright petals fell on Arthur’s head and shoulders, but her expression remained firm on me.

“This is undeniably his,” she said, finally, “Come here fox, let me get a better look at you.”

Relaxing my posture, I brushed past the nobleman with my best sense of bravado.  The newly formed thicket of flowers split for me and I had to not look to avoid showing my surprise.  Everything was planned out so flawlessly that I reluctantly had to give that wizard my credit.  Before the throne, I bent a knee.  Merlin probably would not have bothered, but I had to remember that I was not Merlin.  I was, perhaps, a wayward daughter looking to serve the finest king in the lands.

That being said, I didn’t lower my head.  I looked up at Arthur with an expectant stare.

“You don’t look much like him though,” She mused.

I smiled and did my best to look mysterious.  “I take after my mother.”

To my surprise and, the way the energy in the room shifted, everyone else’s, Arthur seemed to do something similar to laughing.  “If only everyone were so lucky.”  I felt my heart hammer in my ears, but could not place if it was out of fear or something else.  It was like I was being challenged to say something.  Anything.

I was far more attached to living than that though.  “This court has been without a wizard for some time.  Do I have your blessing, lord?” I wouldn’t take the bait.  Not like this, not now.  Not while I could do nothing to defend myself.  If that person on the throne was Arthur, who was I to argue that?

Behind me, I heard the shuffling of feet and the clanging of iron.  I dared not to turn around to see if I was going to be made a prisoner.  I heard a man’s voice say that they were ready, and Arthur’s eyes flicked from me for a moment only to return.  There was a strange expression in her face, one that I couldn’t read.  Finally, she brought a hand out and gestured to her left side.  “Stand here, little fox.  See if Merlin prepared you for this.”

I swallowed, but followed orders.  Cautiously, I took steps up the marble path to the throne and found myself at Arthur’s side.  Even with the flora drowning the room in perfume, I still nearly gagged at the stench of rust and rotted blood which masked Arthur’s entire body.  With great effort, I held it in and looked ahead.  The empty space previously filled by only a few bodies had been filled completely by people in all shapes and sizes held together by lines of iron chain.

“Camelot is safe because justice is met at all costs,” Arthur explained monotonously.  With a wave of her hand, the first man was dragged to the forefront and forced onto his knees.  His shouts and pleas for forgiveness was met with cold stares, and the others in chains looked away.  The man begged and begged as one of the knights drew their sword.  I realized very suddenly what this was.

Before I could speak, Arthur leaned back into her throne.  “Do you feel pity?  You don’t even know his crimes.”  Her hand smoothly formed a line across the air, and the knight cleaved the head from the man’s shoulders.  Blood spilled freely over the flowers, and his body dropped to it’s soft cushion.  “Every one of them there in iron is going to be killed in my court.  Today.”

She looked at me over her shoulders.  “Stand there, fox.  You will watch every one.”

I closed my hands into fists.  “My name is Ritsuka.”

Arthur gestured idly, the head and body of the man taken and moved while the next, a woman, was brought forward.  “We shall see if knowing that matters.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

[ ??? ]

I cannot sleep.

Every time I tried, I would be plagued with nightmares.  Memories of a knight that died on the fields of Camlann.  Memories of a life that is not mine.  Other times, I am face to face with a dragon.  A beast I’ve never seen but I know somehow.  I feel it’s heart beat in my own chest.  It’s maw opens, and I am inside.  The me that is carved open from the neck.  The me that is not me at all.

I do not sleep unless I have to.  The physicians say it is unhealthy for me, as do the healers that stop by.  I cannot sleep, though.  I will not.  My dreams will make me a coward, and I haven’t the time for that.  At first, I thought the itching was a symptom of that restlessness.

It started on my jaw, where I would scratch idly as I mulled through tomes in the library.  I didn’t notice the formation of bone beneath it until I had broken the skin.  It rose to the surface, like a horn.  Black and ugly, spreading my jawline open.  The blood where it burst stained the paper beneath me.  Healers could not figure the cause, nor could the doctors.  I thought of the dragon in my dreams.

It would say something ominous sometimes.  That as long as I kept reaching for my ideals, I would become less and less of a human.

Was I ever a human?

It hurt so much when they began to sprout from my skull.  Breaking the skin, calcifying my bones, branching out like ugly adornment for a helmet.  Like my helmet?  No, that wasn’t my helmet.  Even with the bleeding sliding into my ears, I had to go and be king.  Only those who looked could see them, as if the people I ruled over would only see what mattered to them.  My head feels heavy.

I claw at the growths.  If I am not careful, they will continue growing forever, so I need to tame them with a doctor’s bone saw. It is painful, but I do not cry out.  Sometimes the pain will give me the strength to black out for a time.  Pain induced sleep is without images.

I fear if I dream that dragon again, he will not look like me.

[ camelot ]

I brushed my fingers over my jaw and temples.  Every night, I dreamt of fragments from this timeline.  Most of the time, it didn’t make sense.  Just flashes of images that were unrelated to each other.  Other times, though, they were clear and concise.  I winced as the ghostly pain flooded my head.  I was tied to the source of the problem, after all.  Mordred’s position as king was the reason I was here.

The urge to roll back asleep was powerful, but the movement outside the room Arthur had graciously let me occupy made me realize the time.  Or rather, the lack of my ability to tell the time.

Arthur seemed to think that spending 5 hours speaking to supplicants about their daily lives from sun up to noon was the best thing a king could do.  I had to admit, it was pretty dedicated to listen to actual citizens on a personal basis for so long, but as court mage, I had to be there now too.  Not even anyone in Chaldea would force me up so early.

But after nearly two weeks of doing it, I had to admit it was getting easier.  The worst part of the morning was putting on Merlin’s needlessly complicated outfit, and hoping there would be enough honey and milk left over after Arthur hit the kitchen first.  Routine was good for everyone, even myself.

The bustle was common at this time in the morning, as it was the best time for the house maids to clean each room.  The blood was moving, and knights and guards were changing shift and gathering in common areas.  Drawing the hood over my head, I stifled a yawn and made my way to the kitchens.  As there was work to do so early, there wasn’t time to prepare an elaborate meal for Arthur, and all of the members of the castle only stopped in the kitchens for food on the go.

Of the things I’ve learned, it’s that Arthur cannot surprise me so long as I’m not overly focused. A single step into the servant’s entrance to the kitchen made me aware of her presence.  I don’t know how often she bathes, but her rotting clothing had a pungent odor that I could detect from far away.  It immediately made my stomach turn, and I lost my appetite.  But it would be awhile before I could retire for lunch, so I pressed onward.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Arthur said as I entered the kitchen.  She didn’t even turn around to see who was there, she simply knew it was me.  “There is still some time before seeing the supplicants, and you do not attend the mass.”

I approached cautiously, making sure not to try anything unusual.  Though by now, I think the knights don’t consider me a threat, and the king barely sees me above a nobleman in her clutches.  Rounding her person slowly, I took note of her breakfast and found myself weirdly fixated.  It was tiny, even for a breakfast.  Every Mordred and Artoria I had met were of a voracious appetite.  I had even been assuming that Arthur had devoured the breakfast bread before anyone could get to it.

A single, partially eaten slice of bread dabbed in honey was not what I anticipated.

In this time, I realized that this was the first time I had seen Arthur eat.  Normally, she held a late midday meal in the privacy of her chambers, and in the evening, I was not permitted to join the dinner.  The sunken in look of her cheeks made me realize that this situation was far more dramatic than I had previously anticipated.

“I would expect a king to have a bigger appetite,” I said without thinking.  Knowing it was too late to take the words back, I back pedaled.  “Merlin said that you had a large stomach.”

Arthur’s stare changed from me to the plate.  “Perhaps when I was younger.” She answered me, to my own surprise.  “I have – lost interest somewhat.”

Unsettling was the best word.  I found myself refreshing a sense of fear and concern that I had thought I lost.  It wasn’t – right.  My dreams made the worry bubble in my chest.  Working herself like this, combined with general neglect to her own health was strange.  This Arthur was not a Servant.  This was her human body.  Mostly human anyway.

Her hand rose to her jaw and her rusted fingers picked at the skin surrounding the jutting horns.  I wanted to say something, but the words fell dead on my tongue.  I had only been here awhile and – I wasn’t sure if it was right for me to do so.  I lowered my eyes to the freshly baked loaf and took the bread knife to it.

“I had a nightmare that woke me up,” I said, answering Arthur’s unspoken question.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt the weight of Arthur’s gauntlet on my back.  I wanted to complain, the rust would stain the white of the cloak, but after a moment, the tremble it caused ceased.  This wordless action was meant as a reassurance.  The tips of her fingers curled slightly, and I felt a bizarre ease fill me.

“Whatever ails you,” she said softly, quietly, “you can feel safe.  This is my Camelot, under my rule it is the safest place in the world.”

I don’t know why, but I felt like crying.  If only, Arthur, you knew.  My nightmares were my worries for you.

Very quickly, I learned that they were not going to let me sit around and goof off with the title Merlin lent me.  Immediately the next day, I was expected to perform basic tasks using magic during the supplication period.  Things that could be easily fixed, I had to learn how to do very quickly.  Thankfully, most of the work was inlaid within the staff and robes provided me.  I didn’t think anyone noticed my learning curve, and if they did, they were just happy that I could help.

When I wasn’t doing that, I was an audience member to Arthur’s kingly capabilities.  With no break for herself, she acted in a way that anyone would like.  She spent hours listening to the citizens, putting teams to work on investigating tasks and making their lives easier.  She apologized for their hardships, and made visible effort to ease their situation.  I watched as people took her hand, clothed in that grimy gauntlet, and pressed thankful kisses along the knuckle.

It was as if I was the only one who could see it, or at least cared.  No one else wanted to break the illusion, that this was Artoria, the king they had known all along.  The citizens were under a spell of leadership, so satisfied that they did not care to see the details.  The noblemen were under a spell of fear, not wanting to seek the retribution of the king.  The knights were under a spell of duty, satisfied to let the king be as she pleased.

I had no such compulsions.

The only thing that worried me was the reaction.  I knew the ungodly strength of the King of Knights, and if this was any iteration of that, she could kill me without trying.  But, I had to appeal to her own sense of duty.  She wouldn’t kill me just for not liking what I said.  That would be unjust.

The break after the last execution was the first one in the day for Arthur.  She would typically go into her study where she would review any ordinances and requests by the noblemen in the land.  There she would eat, presumably, and prepare for the evening’s business.  Typically, there would be ongoing discussion from one or three landed lords about policies.  What they can count on Arthur providing them in way of financial support, and what they are allowed to do under her dominion.

“Lord, I know I’ve just joined your court,” I followed her down the corridor towards her study, “so pardon my impertinence, but when was the last time you bathed or changed clothing?”

It wasn’t until that moment that I realized, there was no preparing myself for what as to come.  In seconds I was forced backwards until I had run out of space to escape.  My back pinched against the second floor railing, and I was bent further still.  I was almost like a rug, precariously slung against the edge.  Her hands trapped me in that space, like iron bars on each side of me.  In the corner of my eyes, I saw the stone beneath her fingertips crack from the pressure.

Above me, I could not avoid the gaze of the King.  Furious, unhinged, and frighteningly lost.  I was irritated to wonder when her eyes changed color.  She looked more Alter than ever before, with the green fully faded to a cold shade of gold.  I swallowed, and tried to find something else, but only managed to focus on pronounced elongated teeth.  All I could feel was the sinking dread in my body, like I had kicked something that should’ve been left alone.

A rumble of a growl left the king’s lips, as if forming a sentence was too difficult.  Her fingers pressed harder on the stone, and I heard the trickle of stone snapping.  “Is my manner of dress offending you, witch?” Although quiet, there was a grinding in her voice that felt like it was on the verge of breaking.  “This is the attire of a king.”

I had been around a lot of situations that were scary.  I had fought a lot of enemies, I had seen many atrocities and monstrosities.  My knees felt like they were going to give out, and when they did, I was certain I was going to be devoured.  This was hardly the scariest thing I’ve faced, I said to myself a hundred times.  Arthur closed the space tighter, her nose a handsbreadth away from my face.

“Eve-even still,” I stuttered, grasping for my voice was a struggle.  I tried to carry on my argument but beneath one of Arthur’s hands, the railing crumbled to the floor.

“Who am I?”

My body felt cold.  Looking into her eyes, devoid of logic, my words felt totally useless.  I sought for the strength to argue.  I really did.  I felt like at any moment, the railing would break and I would fall to the bottom.  I felt my lip twitch as I opened my mouth.

“You are the king.” I replied quietly.  I reached out and touched the front of her grimy armor.  “You are Arthur.”

For a full minute, I was uncertain if I had said the right thing.  There was a pure emptiness in her expression as she stared down at me.  Finally, she drew backwards and looked down at the hand on her chest.  Slowly, she reached out and clasped her hand over mine.  The whole time I could not get a single read on her.

“Yes,” for a strange moment, I felt like I could see clarity in her eyes.  Like she was fighting against something out of control.  “I am Arthur.  You, fox, are the mage.  You give advisement only when I need it.”  Slowly, she pushed my hand back to my body and turned around.

“I think you need it.” I said to her back, and when she stopped, I flinched.

This time, however, she looked at me over her shoulder and returned to walking.  I felt frustrated and weak in watching her.  Upset that my own instincts kept me from fully voicing my opinion and upset that it concerned me so much.  My fingers brushed over the faded seal on my hand.  I was only here for convenience’s sake.  It would be trouble if I got myself involved.  Getting overly involved in things, after all, was a bad habit of mine.

As I turned to walk away, I looked at the railing I was pressed against and shuddered.  It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.  Chipped and cracked, I could scarcely believe that the cause of it was even somewhat human.

In addition to a nice room, I was given full access to Merlin’s workshop within Camelot’s walls.  Knowing the wizard himself, I had half expected it to be some kind of raunchy sex dungeon where he could perform magic deeds of chicanery.  Honestly, when it looked like something right out a movie, I was a little disappointed.

The baubles and books that filled every flat surface gave one a real sense of the arcane.  And the candle trick he had done inside his tower happened automatically when I entered the room.  If I had been a less than intelligent person, I might have perused through some of tomes stacked to the ceiling, but that was a dangerous thing.  Everything from this era was delicate, woven, mystical.  I might as well be playing with the ring of a grenade.  Grenades took a little more effort to set off anyway.

The biggest, strangest thing though was what was at the very back.  Merlin had said something about it before, said it was a failsafe in the event that Artoria lost Camlann.  That powers that would bring an era of untold darkness would try and creep in.  On the surface, from the workshop, it looked like a cell door, made with impossibly detailed golden bars.  Beyond those bars was something out of a fairy tale.  Furnished beautifully for nothing short of a queen, it was filled with a warm hearth and crushed velvet.  Everything someone would need was inside, except a way out.

“Dressed like Merlin but not him at all,” purred Morgan le Fay as she was draped dramatically across the sofa.  I couldn’t say if she was doing it for effect or not.  “Who are you floundering around his workshop and not being dragged into this void?”

I had never seen Morgan le Fay before, but Merlin assured me that the only one who would have been caught in that trap was her.  A dusky veil over her face, I could only make out silvery blonde hair and cream colored skin.  Yet, somehow, when I looked at her, I could see the resemblance.

“His successor,” I answered disinterestedly, looking around for the set of items that Merlin had told me to locate.  “He warned me about you.”

I heard her move and when I looked up, she was nearly pressed against the golden bars.  What I understood about the cell was that she could not even slide through, that it would shred her circuits from her body and pound her bones.  One of those could be lived with, but without magic, there would be nothing for her.

“He takes successors in that cannot even cast for themselves?  Tell me the truth,” Morgan leaned against the bars.  “He is just scared of my Mordred.”

Fire set in under my skin.  Something about hearing her speak so intimately of her made me feel sick.  If not for the Mordred in Chaldea, who suffered under her misguidance than the Arthur that wandered around Camelot in maddening suffering.  I picked up a smooth glass sphere and turned to her.  In my head, I had a hundred things to say.  A million rebukes and bitter things.  How her meddling had made so many suffer.

“The king,” I said stiffly, “is not your Mordred any longer.”

I don’t know why it upset me so.  Perhaps if I felt like I was defending Mordred or Artoria, but my stomach turned at the thought of this woman being anywhere near the king.  I chalked it up to being subjected to fragments of the king’s memories and experiences.  The imagery of Arthur, just above them, standing and bearing the brunt of all of Briton for this woman’s selfish desires.

“Obviously,” she replied in a seething disdain.  “Brain rotted fool doesn’t even recognize her own mother.  Everything I did to get her to where she is now, and she won’t even let me finish it.”

It was hard to tell if she was trying to make me upset.  I couldn’t read myself very well.  Everything she said simply – made me mad.  I grit my teeth.  In my head, I assume she’s trying to work me up.  She was trying to goad me into making a mistake.  I searched for the proper incense, trying to ignore her.

“It’s ridiculous, no?  She goes and kills that father of hers, and just breaks.  I must have made her of insufficient materials.” Morgan rattled on, raising her voice as I tried to turn my back to her.  “No good to me now, and now I can’t even jerk my sister off for another one.”

Behind my eyelids, I could only see the vacant expression of madness that I saw in Arthur.  The aimless hatred.  I could feel the weight of her sleeplessness, and the hopelessness of seeing Artoria die.  I – did not restrain myself.  Whipping backwards towards the cell, I slammed the bottom of my foot against the bars enough to push Morgan from resting on them.

“Even still, the king is,” I couldn’t fathom why I was so upset.  I thought of the king, listening to the citizens for hours every day and taking no break to deal with the court.  I thought of the dark circles and the gaunt cheeks, and the rancid scent of death that radiated from her body.  “Arthur – she is – !”

I thought of Cynwrig with the confidence in his chest claiming that there was no one like Arthur Pendragon, king of the Britons.  For some reason, I felt like crying in frustration.

Morgan smiled knowingly.  “But one king.  Without a table of Knights, without the sword of Selection.  Just an imitation on the throne.”

What remained was a bitterness in my gut.  I had a history of dealing with villains as many antiheroes were summoned to Chaldea.  However, when it came to Morgan – something inside of me felt unsettled.  That unhappiness, rather, that indignation refused to leave me.  When I saw the slouching of Arthur’s back as she walked, as if the entire earth sank heavy on her, I felt an uncontrollable urge to inject myself.

But for the most part, I remained silent and bided my time.  Even if I visually could not tell if things were improving, I could feel my circuits slowly dislodge.  This change after two long months of waiting.  It should’ve been faster, but not even Merlin had a good answer for me.  I felt out of sorts, unable to focus on what was ahead of me.

There had been rumors that a provincial lord had made a deal with the wrong sort.  Something magical, something that could be overlooked or a major problem.  His armies were mustered against barbarians to the north, but in order to maintain the safety of the lands, he was being kept on a close watch.  Bickering on what to do had become the theme of every court discussion.  Everyone had a word to say on what to do.  While some believed it was time to rally against him, others believed it would show cowardice on Arthur’s part.

“Wilheard’s armies have sacked a village under our protection,” the scout’s words brought a deafening silence to the room.  It was what no one wanted to hear.  Even those in favor of raising a banner against him had hoped that their efforts were in vain.

“I see,” Arthur rose from her throne, clasping Excalibur to her hip.  “Then he leaves us no choice.”

What I had expected was an immediate response, but I didn’t expect it to be so dramatic.  In as short as an hour, Arthur’s standing army was mustered and set.  Knights were strapped head to toe in armor, and horses were drawn from the stables.  By the time I had gathered my own pack, I was struggling to find a mount as the crowd had begun its march.

At the head of it all: Arthur.  Her figure was stunning and frightening with her rusted armor gleaming against the midday sun and her blood stained cloak billowing behind her.  Her twisted black horns painted a fierce shadow against the earth, and I twisted myself to try and keep up.  I had heard that Arthur had lead from the front, but to see it was something else.  To be among the soldiers who watched her back, upright and solid, I knew an unparalleled sense of confidence.

At her hip was Excalibur, the sword which promised victory.  In her blood was the veins of the dragon who protected the Britons.

Battles with Servants, I thought, was the height of violence.  People with world ending strength, warriors with magic untold.  They could rend the earth apart without even an ounce of effort.  They could split the seas and crush mountains.  They were people who lived for battle, who knew only peace when they were in the fight.

I was wrong.  No, the real thing was much different.

The instant the conflict started, it was a cacophony of iron and screaming.  Instantly, I found my face wet with blood and sweat, narrowly avoiding the line of spear thrusts.  It was a huge beating drum, pounding louder as each body pressed forward.  The second I lose focus, my nose is broken on the edge of a shield.  I stagger backwards, and I flare my circuits into Merlin’s mystic code in hopes of some way to protect myself from the incoming ax.  The earth split beneath me and a knotty oak propelled out, impaling not just the soldier attacking me but another behind him.

His hot insides spill onto me, as I lay sprawled beneath the goring.  He moans and cries, not dead from the impact, reaching out for help.  The sight buries into my eyes, but is cut short by the dropping of his skull to the earth, and the wood retreats.  Above me, Arthur whips the blood off the edge of her sword.

“If you can’t kill in a single stroke, you should avoid killing,” Arthur said, pulling me to my feet by the front of my clothes.  “Retreat.”

Embarrassment drew blood to my cheeks, and only made my nose hurt worse.  “Are you calling me useless?” I snapped, wiping my nose on my sleeve.  It was stained now anyway, so why worry about the fidelity of it’s white.

Without looking away from me, she raised her sword and in a single stroke, cut a line through the battlefield.  Bodies fell to the side, as if they were butter at the end of her sword.  Arthur focused on me.  “Useless?” She snarled, closing the distance between us by a step.  “Isn’t it better to not be a murderer?  Do you think I kill for the pleasure of it?”

With a meaty whack her speech was cut short.  Arthur’s face gave no reaction, but she turned slightly.  I first saw the enemy soldier, staring in disbelief, but when she turned completely, I forgot to breathe.  To say the ax was buried into her back was not the right way to explain it.  It looked like he had tried to chop her down, but found the source too thick, like a woodsman’s ax waiting to chop wood.  It remained there on its own, even as she moved.

“You,” her voice was so quiet, yet I felt like it was louder than the entire battlefield.  The soldier who had attacked her had seemed to lose his nerve, trying to grasp for his side arm as Arthur readjusted her grip.  “When a king is speaking, you wait your turn.”  She raised Excalibur one handed and brought it down.

It was like watching fabric cut, the way his body split and stretched against the edge.  Her stroke moved with such ease and comfort, I could scarcely believe that she was cutting a human.  Blood spewed forth, and when his body fell in wet plops, she remained still.

Wordlessly, she rolled her shoulders, and with almost a visual ripple of her muscles, the weapon was squeezed out of her body.  I no longer could control my own responses, and my entire body pulsed.  It was so hot and fierce that my shame forced me to call it fear or concern.

I retreated like she told me to.

There was that old adage: War is Hell.

Even though victory was promised, it was hardly perfect.  Perfect and upright, the king stood against the dying light.  In one battle, she had ended this conflict definitively.  I grit my teeth.

Just an imitation on the throne.

I knew Mordred.  I knew Artoria.  I knew Artoria with Excalibur and Artoria as the goddess.  No part of me could agree with Morgan.  Arthur, whose eyes were so vacant but body so proud, was not a fake.  I thought of her expression burning into me with fury.  Not just in the halls of Camelot, but on the battlefield.  When the tents popped up on the edges of the battlefield, I made myself scarce.  I had no part in this victory, after all.

It was a very selfish desire of mine, but at this point, I felt strangely emboldened.  Arthur entered the king’s tent alone, drenched in gore and blood.  It was a gamble to do this, but I considered it all carefully.

“What is this?” She asked looking between the steaming basin and myself.  I had stripped down to the skintight black underlayer of my outfit, and knelt beside the basin with cloths in hand.

“I am doing my part,” I said steadily and I spread a clean linen beside the makeshift tub.  “Undress, lord, and allow me to wash your wounds and body.”

There was any number of possibilities.  Most scenarios had her kick me out in my head.  A few involved her killing me.  Fewer still had her relenting to my request.  Yet, without breaking eye contact with me, she removed the clasp of her cloak and began unbuckling her armor.  Each heavy piece fell to the ground without care or purpose until she was down to the almost blackened clothing underneath.

She took one step out of her pile of iron, and continued removing that last bit.  I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to.  I knew what Mordred looked like, so I could’ve imagined what she looked like beneath, but her physique was different.  Her shoulder line and biceps were far more defined and rigid, and her stomach looked so hard you could grate cheese on it.  Her shoulders and arms were riddled with puffy scarring.

My eyes fell to her side, where a thicket of tissue marred her otherwise perfect torso.

With another step, she stood in the center of the linen, and I was face level with –

I turned quickly and soaked a cloth in the hot water, trying not to think of Arthur’s unexpectedly gorgeous body.  “You have a lot of scars, do you just let yourself get hit?” I spoke out loud to try and diffuse my own embarrassment.  Returning to her, I focused on one small part at a time.  From her ankles to her angular calves, and up her thighs.

“At times,” She answered me, and I could feel her eyes burrow into my head as I wrung out the cloth and moved to her stomach.  “As you can see, it doesn’t typically cut through my muscle.”

Part of me hated that answer, and I rose to my feet so I could reach her breasts.  That same part of my head was strangely fixated with them, a small gentle part of a hard body.  Carelessly, I ran the rough cloth over a nipple and I pretended not to notice the reaction.

“But sometimes it does,” I said, walking around her to wipe off her back.  My fingers traced an old scar that seemed to split her shoulder.  With a moments silence, I returned to my work, gently cleaning the wound she sustained talking to me.  “If the king – ” I hesitated and rinsed the cloth.  “If something were to happen to you, then all of Britannia would mourn.”

Satisfied with my job on the wound on her back, I returned to the tub and gestured to her to enter it.  For a moment, she stared at me and I couldn’t figure out what was going on behind her eyes.  Silently, Arthur walked forward and slowly sank into the tub.  The splash of water and the voices of the victorious army outside filled the space.  Gingerly, I brought handfuls of water over her head, and got her hair wet from root to tip.

“Fox – the people,” she spoke up as I began to lather a soap into her hair.  “They are happy?”

There as a strange fragility to her voice, one that I had not expected.  My heart strained, thinking of Morgan again.  An imitation.  “Yes, lord, they are very happy.” I assured her.  After a moment, I rinsed the soap from her hair.  Her hand caught mine.

“That motion is nice,” She looked at me from over her shoulder, “could you continue it?”

I nodded, running my fingers through her hair and along her scalp.  I watched her body tremble gently as I traced the skin about her horns.  “Yes, my king, I can.”  I assured her as I continued and I felt a quiet pride as she fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

[  キャメロット]

I realize, somehow, that this was my own dream.  Because my head didn’t hurt, because I was looking at Arthur.  It was my own dream, of course, that would expose me for the human that I am.  My bad habits, of course.  Becoming too attached, getting overly involved. 

In that dream, I was submerged in hot water that was the closest thing to hiding my nudity.  I felt the raw wood of the washtub against my back, and I had my breath caught in my throat as I tried to cover myself.  No, I knew it was no use hiding, and part of me reveled in that perversion.  Arthur sank into the basin above me, and I was captive between her hands and knees.

She watched me with slit pupils, and carefully ran her fingers along the nape of my neck.  It was increasingly hard to breathe, especially with how my body knew how hard and cut her body truly was.  My base urges wanted to touch, and with no respect for my sanity, I brought my fingers against the soft ridges of her abdominal.  Despite being in water, fire pooled at the base of my stomach and I traced her body.

“Is this what you want, fox?” She asked me, in a quiet sultriness that I had invented only in my head.  Her body sank lower, and she was nearly sitting on my legs.  Both her hands grasped over mine, and pushed them against her body.  “You eyed them hotly, didn’t you?”

I wanted to argue, my god I did.  “Yes, you’re so,” Her hands guided mine to her back, where my fingers sought out each scarred sinew.  “Strong.”  I felt so out of control and, yet, I couldn’t say I was wrong either.  As my fingers and nails explored her back, Arthur brought her hands to my jaw and brushed her fingers against my panting lips.

“I am a monster,” she said softly, leaning towards me, so I could reach further.  Her damp blonde hair fell from her shoulders, and I focused so tightly on her narrow eyes. Her lips part and her broad canines peak from her lips.  “And you can’t look away.”

It’s terrible, I admit it.  I lose control of my reason, just a little bit.  When she looked at me like that, I wondered what it would be like if she sank those teeth into me.  They would break the skin, definitely and leave a gaping scar.  My fingers traced the scarring on her back, and her thumb pressed into my lips.

I thought about her hands, that crushed stone in her gasp.  Those hands were so close to killing me in this second.  I remembered it was a dream, and that didn’t help the frustration between my legs.  Every part of her should’ve been terrifying, from her muscles to her teeth.  My hands slid up her neck and through her hair, against the rigid bone that twisted from her head.

When I washed her hair, I saw her body react to touching it.  Right at the base, where the bone and skin separated.  In memory, it was just a reaction.  In my fantasy, she moaned softly into my touch.  Hot and breathy, a sound that I invented in my head.  My arousal was painful, but no part of me wanted to relieve myself.  I was too focused on her face, momentarily unaware of all the pain she shouldered.

“I -” What was I going to say?  I had no idea, I just spoke blindly and dug my fingernails into the delicate area, focused on the sexual relief on Arthur’s face.  To my surprise, one of her hands dropped beneath the surface of the water.  Down, down past my breasts and my tummy.

I cried out in pleasure, squeezing onto Arthur’s horns for dear life.  Stiff but pliable and rough - her fingers curled against my aching pussy.  All she did was brush along my slit, but my body felt like it was going to explode at any second.  “I can even tell how wet you are through the water, fox,” she teased, attacking my clit with long powerful strokes.

“Give, please,” I whined, bucking my hips like an animal.  The reasonable side of my mind was long gone by now.  God - I was - so close.  I was blubbering and begging, squeezing that dragon king as she grinned at me.

[ camelot ]

 

I awoke with my body buzzing, furiously close to orgasm, and my mind a terrible mess of questions.  I groaned in frustration.  This was becoming a reoccurring issue.  Sinking my hand between my legs, I was greeted by my embarrassing wetness and quickly stroked myself to release.  It had been three months since the night on the battlefield, and I found my body and mind at an impasse.

Perhaps it was because I was normally surrounded by cloud of sexual energy.  My output for that kind of thing was naturally had a weird high.  That there was no snake girls trying to crawl into my bed, or celtic queens asking for quickies.  It wasn’t like I ever did anything with them, but it made a weird buzz in my libido.  Without all of that, it was like I had this charged sex that needed out.

That’s what I told myself anyway.  It wasn’t like I was embarrassed to masturbate or anything, and I had plenty of time to myself to do it.  The issue was the fantasies that were coming with it.

I could hear Arthur’s voice, faint and fragile, in my head and that made my body burn.  That was the issue. If I was attracted to just her body, or her strength, it wouldn’t have bothered me.  Sometimes, when I see her in the corner of my eye, she’s looking at me.

And I can’t tell if I’m obsessed or not.  It messes with my head.

Between my body and my mind, I can’t seem to focus.  Arthur began to bathe.  That was the first change.  Her hair was combed, and the scent of death and sweat didn’t cling to her.  In the span of a week, a new set of clothing was tailored and delivered to the castle.  Gone away were the rotted molding clothing torn off Artoria’s corpse.

That was my problem.  I now had no reason to shirk away from her.  I had to be around her.  When I looked at her, then, free of superficial disgusts, I felt my heart tighten.  Arthur was a sad person.

No - even if my body was craving her, I couldn’t chalk up my feelings to that.  Even if I thought about Arthur’s beautiful body, I could only focus on the small things.  The ribbons of scars on her body, the dark circles beneath her eyes.  The tiny amount she ate, despite being so hungry.  In her dreams, I felt a clawing hunger at my stomach so fierce that my body felt torn apart.  Yet, she foregoes a meal each day in place of governing.  Instead, she lets herself get attacked and cut and beaten, because she simply could.

I couldn’t even say it was lust, because I looked at her furious empty eyes and I thought of how sad I was that there was nothing behind them.  I felt the weight of her hand on my back, knowing that she had not slept that night or the night before, feeling pity for my momentary restlessness.  I had felt the relaxation of her body as I touched her, freeing her momentarily from the shackles of her position and I – was overwhelmed with the desire to do more.

Being this king was Artoria’s choice.  It was the one she was raised for, it was who she was intimately as a person.  It was the core of her being, the beating heart of a dragon.  Artoria knew her limitations and made her choices – restrained herself as needed to achieve perfection.  Artoria was not just born for this, but was prophesied by mystics.  Fate had made her who she was, twined with experience and understanding.

Mordred, who was noble and good at her core, could be a good king.  They said that even though Artoria was perfect, people were happier with Mordred.  Even though she fought tooth and nail to be heir, she wasn’t perfect.

The Mordred who became Artoria did not understand these boundaries.  Did not understand sacrifices and restraint.  Would sortie at a moments notice and still stop to mend a bridge.  Arthur wanted to be perfect.

In my heart I knew she was.  All of Britannia knew she was.

However, Arthur was never meant to be perfect.

I trembled, her gloved hand around my wrist, and I looked at her.  From her neck to her fingertips, she had wrapped herself in thick boiled leather and studs.  Deep set stitched patterns of dragons and crosses blazoned across her chest, attesting to vows of Christianity and martyrdom.  Her eyes were set on me, and her lips firm.

“Do you,” there was a moments hesitation in her words, and if I wasn’t so obsessed, I wouldn’t have noticed.  “Want to sup with me this evening?”

The last of the noblemen had been escorted from the throne room, and the bodies of the executed were collected.  The scent of iron was fresh in my mouth and nose, and I tried to let it ground me.

I failed.

“I, I suppose I’m not doing anything this evening,” I stammered despite myself.  I was mad, because I’m not like this.  I’m not weak, I said to myself.  I smelled the blood and filled my lungs with it.  Death had become something of a life line, bracing me to the reality.  I couldn’t let myself get caught up.  “Is there something you would like to discuss, my lord?”

Slowly, Arthur blinked and withdrew her hand.  I couldn’t read her.  I couldn’t see anything in her eyes, but - if I tried, I could imagine something there.  “You’ve been with us nearly half a year now, and I realize I have not invited you to table,” faintly, there was a hint of shame, but I wondered if I was imagining that too.

It was a pretty reasonable response.  So much so that I found it almost upsetting.  Everything here was business as usual after all, and I fought the blush in my face thinking it was anything else.  It felt like the hours dragged on afterwards, as I ignored the jeers of Morgan in Merlin’s workshop.  The tomes and mysteries seemed irresistible to a terrible mage like me, and I hoped I could find something that would make me better.

Galahad lingered in the doorway.  “The king asked me to fetch you before I parted from the castle,” he said coolly, his expression as set as stone.  “You agreed to dine with her this evening.”

I found his deadpan directness charming usually, but as he stared at me, I felt like he could see every sopping dream that I’ve had.  “Yes, I did.” I responded, pushing away the book I had been thumbing through.  I furrowed my brow.  “I was under the impression that you and others would be at attendance?”

He waited for me to close the distance between them before speaking.  “No, on this evening, the king requested that none else be in attendance,” he paused thoughtfully.  “And also requested that we not mention that fact.  I am spending the evening with my mother.”

My first response was to wince for the knight.  Up until that moment, I hadn’t considered his situation.  No doubt he would be returning to the disgraced Elaine of Corbenic, whose name would only be remembered for her affair and child.  I wanted to say something, but the steely way he looked at me, I felt like it was not a subject to broach.

“The king wishes to speak with me in private,” was my second response, and before I realized it there was a shock of giddy through me.  I resisted, repainted.  Concern was a more natural emotion.  “Is there something I should be worried about?”

He left me in a lingering silence, leading me through the halls.  “My lord does not know how to deal with you,” Galahad answered finally, as the dining hall was nearly in reach.  He tilted his head a bit, and shrugged.  “Your kind, I suppose.”

I furrowed my brow.  My - kind?  I didn’t understand that statement.  I could see him eyeing me from beneath his bangs.  I thought it strange.  Mages were not unheard of in courts, and in Arthur’s many came and went.  To be worried about mages now, I wondered if I had offended her at all.

Opening the door to Arthur’s private dining hall, Galahad stepped aside and led me in.  It was a space made up for a warm few, with a lengthy oak table but close walls.  I had seen the formal dining hall and thought it daunting, but this had a completely different type of drama to it.

Rising up from her seat, the king greeted me.  “Ah, fox,” she started and stopped, mulling over her word choice.  “Ritsuka of Fujimaru, welcome.  Thank you for joining me this evening.”

I didn’t feel like correcting her, so I gave her my best practiced curtsy.  “Lord Arthur Pendragon,” it felt foreign falling off my tongue, but with all the formality, I couldn’t help it.  “The thanks is mine.  Bringing a mage to your dining hall is a great honor, and I’m happy to accept.”

I swear I heard a sniff of a laugh behind me, but when I looked at Galahad, he was as passive as ever.  So much so that his stiff delivery would’ve tipped me off that it was false without knowing.  “Lord, though it pains me to do this, my mother called upon me this eve.”  Over enunciated and dry, Galahad gave his clearly fed line aloud.

Arthur’s expression was just as dry, and for a brief moment, I saw a flickering twitch of her eye.  It was a brief showing of emotion, and part of me felt braced by it.  “I understand, Sir Galahad.  There is few precious things more beloved than a mother’s love for her son.”  And there I was, drawn back to reality.  I thought of Morgan, hidden away in the workshop.  My kind - perhaps, it had to do with that.

The door shut behind me, and that left the two of us.  In an empty room.  With a long table.

“Have a seat,” Arthur broke the silence with a gesture to the single spot with a chair.  Opposite of her spot, at the end of the staggering table.  I stared.

“That would make me pretty nervous,” I answered quickly, “could I, perhaps, sit half way through the table?”

I didn’t think it was all that weird.  Sitting opposite of Arthur would make me have to stare at her face and eyes.  Her stare was heavy.  But there was a palpable silence, and I had to wonder to Galahad’s words.  The king didn’t know how to deal with my kind.  Then finally, she rose to her feet.

“That would be fine.”  She answered me, and before I knew it, Arthur was at the other side of the table.  I watched, gobsmacked, as she took the chair and carried it partway through the table.  She set it down.  “Is this distance fine?”  She asked, tilting her head to one side.

I felt my face burn up.  This kind of gentlemanly behavior I expected from Artoria or Gawain.  Mordred, even, if she was in a good mood.  Even though Arthur was neither Artoria nor Mordred, but both, I felt shy.  As Arthur returned to her place at the table, I sat down at mine.  Servants silently entered the room and set the places, as we both couldn’t decide on a way to start a conversation.

“Do you normally dine with others?” I asked first, deciding to break the silence.  I knew that Galahad had said that Arthur dismissed everyone else, but that didn’t meant that such a thing was normal.

Slowly, Arthur brought a glass of wine to her lips.  “Typically, but,” she stared at the contents of her drink.  “I must admit, I did have a few men from Kent here, but when I invited you to dinner, I realized that might be an issue.”

There it was again, I tightened my brow.  In this era, magic had to be acceptable.  To be so apprehensive of mages was strange.  “My kind,” I prompted gently.  Perhaps because he thought I was a druid, then.  I knew the Anglo-Saxons had issues with them.  My mind raced on the possibilities.

Slightly, Arthur averted my gaze and the faintest of color rose to her pale cheeks.  “I don’t mean to be rude,” she replied with practiced delicacy.  “There are many men here who I cannot guarantee chivalry around a succubus in close proximity.”  When she finished speaking, she took another mouthful of her drink and kept her eyes away from mine.

“Oh, my gratitude.”  I answered dumbly.

Until that very moment, I had completely accepted my cover as Merlin’s love child.  I even told him about it, and he thought it was a great idea.  We didn’t look that similar, but who knows who my mother was.  That illusive detail was the one I focused on, not the obvious one in front of me.  My face burned hot.  Merlin’s less than savory origins would, of course, be known to the king.  Known enough by anyone who knew him.

I wanted to bury myself in a hole.  For nearly six months, I had been flaunting around Camelot blindly calling myself a sex demon and was proud of it.  Everyone had been polite and calm, so I had no idea.  Perhaps it was the influence of the king, but - I wanted to hide my face even more.  Thinking back on this new information, I remembered the night on the battlefield.

God, what did Arthur think of me?  What did I think of me?

I glanced up at her nervously, and out eyes met for just a second.  “I’m really thankful you’ve been concerning over me,” I blabbered, forcing myself to look down at the food being served.  “But my father was only half, so I don’t believe my inheritance was that significant.”

“You should still be concerned,” Arthur replied, just a hair too quickly.  If I hadn’t been so embarrassed, I might not have noticed.  “For many men, all it takes is for a woman to be beautiful to ignite their baser urges.  As my charge, your safety is my responsibility.” She picked at the roasted hen at her plate stiffly.

I felt my head spin in embarrassment.  I wanted to ask if that meant she thought I was beautiful, but I considered my situation.  As a ‘succubus’ I wondered if she thought I must be beautiful.  She wanted to protect me though, and the me that was becoming obsessed with Arthur was happy with that.

[ chaMMbers ]

 

I am Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons.  My heart is empty and it is black.  Inside from wall to wall, it is all of Britannia.  There is the ghosts of thousands of people with no faces.  It is littered with bones, bleached white under an ugly sun.  It is empty because it must be.  For if I put even one person inside that blackened hull, I will not have for my kingdom.  I will not have space to put each and every burning ghost, and hateful memory of comrades.

Love is for the people beneath me, because it is my gift to them.  That they could freely love, I would gladly continue to be cut and pierced.  I hunch over Britannia, wrapping them in my arms like a dragon’s hoard.  Even if I must sacrifice everything, that is fine.  Because ****I****  am not a person worthy of anything less.

My head hurts.  Throbbing, pounding.  Behind my eyes, distorting my vision.  I feel like a stranger in my skin once again in frustration.  I should be able to accept this pain with no trouble.  But ** **I**** struggle with this pain.  Dissonance.  Noise.  I am Arthur, I am the King.  I will accept this pain with grace and I will accept that if I fill this void, then nothing can be protected.

 ** **I****  want to love too.   ** **I**** never knew love.  That is why I was born.

In that moment of rejection ****I****  was filled with a sense of hopelessness.  In that hopelessness it became love.   ** **My****  love has always been like that.  Because ****I****  loved “ me “ more than anyone else.   ** **I****  knew that the only thing that would set me free was that love.  When I was free, ****I****  was killed by that love.

Love is a cycle of destruction.  That is why a king has no right to indulge.  These hands were not meant to hold anything.  Only to support, and to break.  These shoulders would cave the minute another hand would support them.  My love is destruction, after all.

 ** **I**** have always wanted to love.  I have no place for it.

Noise.  I feel it beneath my skin.  Like a hateful vibration, like a dull ache.  I want to –

When I look at her, I feel like I can no longer control myself.  I feel like I am not me, not the king I had made.  Her back, upright, and strong.  I can smell her fear, and taste it on the sweat in the air.  I know she is afraid, I know she is struggling.  I can see it, I can feel it, I can hear it.  Yet, she keeps making me undone.

Beautiful hair, red like a fox.  I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in.  She smells like oils and sweat, and something more animal.  It undoes me.  I want to scorn her, and to send her away.  I want to hate her, I want to despise her very being.  She’s a demon, I say, as my body begs for her scent.  For her eyes to look at me, and only me.

I hold her down, and she purrs.  Beckons me to do my worst, breaks me down that I were not a king or a knight but a broken thing hinging on her winding.  I want her, and I taste her.  Her lips that frown and smile without regard to my mood.  I open her mouth and pillage her tongue, devouring her taste.  I move and she moans softly against me, rocking against my body, and I am aroused and wet like a whore.

Her hand slides up my leg and touches me and I nearly weep.  It’s not fair for her to make me feel so weak but I buck against her touch.  It’s her wiles, it’s her wiles.  My head hurts, my eyes sting but she makes that sensation dull.  “I’m a monster.”  I cry, groaning to her touch.  “I’ll love you, and then I’ll need to destroy you.”

She pulls her come covered fingers from my legs and pulls my head close to her neck.  “You can have me.  I want you to love me.”  Like she knows, and she does.

I open my mouth and I bite her.  Not gentle, not sweet.  My teeth sink in like I was biting a ham, her blood ran hot behind my fangs and against my tongue.  Sweet, I think, she is sweet and I swallow her.  Against my head she pets me, urges me, guides me as I begin to eat her.  Bite by bite, piece by piece.  I lose sight of me, because I cannot remember why I wanted to bite in the first place.

But she moans.  Her moans of pleasure are so hot that I feel the pounding between my legs grow more furious than ever.  This, I know, is the only way I can have her.  I cup my sex and slide a finger in, licking her pretty bones. This is the only way that’s safe.

My eyes sting with tears, and my head hurts.  But I don’t want to -

[ camelot ]

 

I’m obsessed, and I know it.  Even if I try to convince myself that it is my own imagination forming these dreams, I know it’s not true.  I had felt this sensation before, this bone aching similarity.  I had torn apart the delicate fabric and shared a part of her intimacy.  I’m obsessed, because I’m elated.  My heart raced at the thought of being at the center of her arousal.  I’m obsessed, because no part of me was disgusted by feeling her take bite after bite of me.

I thought that I was a bad person because I was thinking I could take advantage of her misunderstanding.  I wondered if I could convince her to let me closer, thinking I was a demon that could devour those erotic thoughts.

I bit my lip to the point of bleeding, watching Arthur from the corner of my eye.  I wondered if I was imagining things.  That when she spoke to the supplicants, her eyes had the slightest substance to them.  There was a flicker there that wasn’t there before.  I wondered if it was my imagination, but I knew it wasn’t.  Slightly, her eyes met mine and I felt her linger on me a second longer than needed.

I wanted to fill her.  That empty space inside of her.

There’s no proper explanation for it, I decided.  That I kept feeling her beneath her skin, that I kept feeling that yawning hole inside her body.  Intimately, more than anyone else, I knew how she felt inside.  I knew who she was, I knew who she wanted to be.  I knew what she had become.  Behind my eyes, I could see Mordred and Artoria and someone else entirely.

I saw a dragon with blood red scales, burying its face in white ashes.  Painting itself so that no one would know the difference.

It was a bad habit of mine.  Getting so involved.

She eased herself into her throne, taking no break from hours of supplication, to move onto the next subject.  No one noticed the weight of her bags or the slouch of her back.  Instead, they continued to grasp at her shirt tails.  The perfect king.  I rolled my shoulders and stretched, waiting for the last of the noblemen to file into the throne room.  Sometimes, this audience would be short, other times, it ran past the dinner hour.

The men were shoulder to shoulder, packed between rows of knights.  I could smell their bodies and sweat, and the room took a chaotic murmur.  It was the start of the winter season, and every province under Arthur’s protection needed to know what the situation would be.  It would be a long audience, discussing proper distribution of resources and finances.

On the battlefield, Arthur is a titan.  Unbowed, unbroken, unstoppable.  Beautiful like a dragon or a god.  In this throne room, flanked by foes she could not kill, she was just as breathtaking.  With level even eyes, and a smooth sturdy voice, she commanded attention as if possessing magic.  Her teeth, broad and sharp, peek from her lips as she spoke, and I found myself fixated upon them.  Grinding and tearing me apart.

Even as part of me is disgusted, afraid even, of the darkest recesses of Arthur’s mind that wanted to consume me; I was aroused by it as well.  In that moment in her dream, the way her teeth sank into my body.  I could feel her fear and sadness and relief.

Relief - part of me wants to save her from even a bit of that burden.

“I thank everyone in attendance this evening,” Arthur said finally, long after the sun had set.  Even if no one else had noticed it, what little color she had had left her cheeks.  “The night has set in and I request all of you be my guest tonight in Camelot.  For those that have ongoing matters, we will continue discussion tomorrow.  I shall have the staff make preparations, and the kitchens hot for everyone.”

She rose to her feet, and I watched her roll her shoulders.  For a brief moment, I had forgotten that this Arthur was flesh and blood.  Solidly, she dismissed herself, and exited the throne room.  That, however, was a brief moment.  Without worrying about what the men in the room might say, I followed her.  I could hear it already, the vulgar comments.  The king’s pet whore, the succubus from the north.

Beyond the eyesight of the others, I saw her leaning against the wall.  Her breath trembled, and I was reminded that Arthur was not a Servant.  Arthur was alive.  With blood and bone and soul.  In her world, this was unacceptable.  This moment of weakness, where she was not perfect.

I touched her back so softly that I was surprised she could feel it through the boiled leather of her armor.  Her breathing stopped, and she tried in vain to hide her struggling.

“Don’t look,” she said quietly, face fixed at the floor.  “This shameful appearance is not the way a king should look.”

Arthur was never meant to be perfect.  I felt like I was going to break.  “Lord, I must,” I felt my voice crack and slowly, we walked together towards Arthur’s chambers.  “My king is simply too beautiful to look away.”

To my surprise, she laughed.  Though her voice was rough and rocky, it was so quiet and gentle that I might’ve cried had I not been so shocked.  She stopped after a minute and as we reached the doorway to her chambers, she leaned against the frame.  Sweat pilled at her cheek.  She never slept, and worked herself to the bone.  She hadn’t even a single bite that day.  Her eyes were heavy and cheeks gaunt.

My Arthur was not meant to be perfect.

“You,” She started with the faintest smile on her lips.  “Should be very careful on who you take to their bedchambers, little fox.”

I felt her words run through me like lightning.  I fought not to look like a deer in headlights.  I already knew how she felt, I already knew.  I had to keep my distance.  I always got too involved.  “I thought I could trust the king.” I said running my fingers against the rivets in her armor.

Leaning forward, Arthur pressed her forehead against mine.  “You are the only one in all of Britannia who shouldn’t.”  She breathed, and I trembled.  I already knew what she wanted from me, and I was pretty damn sure I was ready to give it.

Her wiles.  Her charm.  I remember her thinking that.  Not like this, though, I thought.  “You’re a knight as well as a king, you won’t put your hands on me unless I offer you to,” I asserted.  Her eyes scrunched up, as if I had called her bluff.  “Open the door, lord.  First the bath and now this, you need me to take care of you, don’t you?”

It took a minute of staring her down, and in that minute I realized how different it was.  She could kill me with one hand, just reach around my neck and snap it.  The first time I made a conflict with her, she must have considered it.  This time, she just looked at me and then opened the door.

Inside was a scene straight out of a movie.  I didn’t know what I expected.  It had the set pieces of a period appropriate bedroom, but - wrong.  The sheets and pillows were torn and punctured, the frame snapped.  Many pieces of furniture were splintered and broken, books split into halves.  I thought again about that hand that could kill me at a moments notice.  The mirror which had been set into a wardrobe was shattered.

Arthur doesn’t say anything and I am made speechless.

“I did not realize how humiliating it would be,” she said finally, looking away from me.  But for once, I felt like I completely understood.  I walked past her and sat down on her bed.  The cushion felt lumpy and awkward, as if it had been repaired many times.  I looked at her, and brought my hands out.

“Come here, until the maid brings your supper, I want to make sure you rest.” I said, and I felt my heart stop as she visibly fidgeted.  “Lay your head on my lap, I’ll use my powers to make sure you rest.”

That was something a succubus could do, right?  I could tell that Arthur was thinking the same thing before she pulled off her outer coat, exposing only a thick strap of fabric beneath.  I tried not to drool.  Mordred’s sense of style never truly went away.  Carefully, she closed the space and lowered herself onto the bed and my lap.  The rough surface of her horns pressed against my stomach.

“You liked it when I massaged your head, right?” I asked, running my fingers through her hair.  I didn’t even need a vocal response, feeling every inch of Arthur’s body relax against me.  She vocalized something, but it was wordless response.


	4. Chapter 4

[ … ]

 

I opened my eyes.  I feel like I had been dreaming of Arthur less and less as winter set in.  I couldn’t tell if it was because I was getting closer, or because she was sleeping more regularly.  The heat and weight of her body cupped my back, and I was bound against her by one of her arms.  Spooning would be the appropriate word, but considering all I did was sleep next to her, I was a little hesitant to put a intimate word to it.

Closing my eyes again, I focused on the soft melody of her breathing.  Weeks prior, she tossed and turned on a regular basis and even whined in her sleep.  Now, however, there was a peacefulness.  She would mumble, sometimes, and her fingers would curl into the sheets, but Arthur was calm for the most part.  I felt a gentle pride in my chest, knowing that when she would wake up, the circles under her eyes would be long gone.

Without modern heating methods, the castle was almost unbearable in the cold wet British winter.  I could feel the draft at the tip of my nose, even with the lit hearth in the room and Arthur’s body against me.  For that reason, I lied, I was reluctant to get out of bed too quickly.  Soon enough, she would wake anyways.  The supplication was moved indoors to keep the public out of the bitter winter, but it was just as long.

She shifted and I could feel her breathing into my hair.  Steady, controlled; the breathing of someone who was awake.  Sometimes she did that, and I let her, unsure of how to proceed.  Both of us knew the other was awake, and both of us knew that we could stop it.  But this time was different, “why do you let me so close to you?”

I had heard this question enough in my dreams.  I should’ve been prepared to hear it, but I wasn’t.  A lump rose in my throat.  Shyness?  I couldn’t really place it.  “I trust you,” I answered lamely.  It was true, at least.  Of all the self loathing and fear that I felt of Arthur in my dreams, of all the anger and violence I had seen.  I didn’t have a reason to be afraid of her.  She wouldn’t hurt me unless I let her.

“Do you think that even though my body is that of a woman’s that I would not be enticed by your succubus charms?” The arm around me shifted, and her palm rested against my stomach.  “All this time I’ve been thinking, I warned you.  I said you couldn’t trust me, and you insisted on being here.”  Despite her words, her hand did nothing, simply rested on me like an empty threat.

In my head, I could see every position that Arthur had dreamed of me.  Every sordid want and detail that would make a lesser woman fear her.  I summoned a blush that burned to the back of my neck.  I couldn’t say that I wasn’t interested in them.  That perhaps some part of me was hoping for that outcome.  That perhaps, if Arthur would take the initiative, I would allow her.

“Because you need me,” I argued, and one of my hands rested on Arthur’s.  Her nose and lips drifted downwards, against the back of my neck.  On instinct I arched against her.  “If you need me like this, then…” She was not typically so forward, and I wondered if something was wrong.

Arthur stopped, and in a frustrated silence I tried not to interrupt her.  “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” she said to me softly.  So softly, so fragile, that I almost didn’t believe it was her.  “You’re in my bed, under my blankets, beneath my arms.  I warn you that you make me - weak.  Yet you offer yourself to me like it were nothing.”

I frowned, even if she couldn’t see it.  “It may feel like nothing to you, lord,” I answered in frustration.  “But it’s quite a bit to me.  I’m not a woman who would offer my body so casually, despite my heritage.  If you needed me, as a woman, then.” I felt embarrassed with directness.  Part of me had hoped that Arthur would break character and pillage me.  “Then, I would be happy with that.”

Saying it felt liberating, and I realized how this secret had been altering my senses.  How everything had to be tuned to avoid bringing it up, but be so close to it I could taste it.  Arthur’s lips pressed against the back of my neck, softly at first but grew rough.  Her broad fangs peeked through her lips, brushing against my skin.  I shuddered and let out a sigh, far louder than I anticipated.  The noise made her hesitate a moment.  “Did I - ?” She sounded concerned, and I realized that she feared that monstrous part of her.

“Feels good,” I replied quickly, face hot.  “I like it.  Your teeth,” I cobbled my thoughts together, trying not to sound too desperate.  Just her tongue and lips on my neck was already starting to make my brain cloud.  The thought of her doing anything with the hand on my stomach made my insides flip.

Tentatively, she went back.  Slowly again, but more purposely catching my skin with the tip of her fangs.  My heart hammered, and as her tongue snaked out against the tooth pressed dimples, I moaned softly.  My voice encouraged her, and she drew a line with her tongue to my ear.  I twisted, her teeth sinking into the soft cartilage there and I burned hot.  I didn’t even need to check between my legs to know I was wet.

“I’ll break you,” Arthur said fearfully against my ear.  In any other tone, it would’ve been erotic, but her voice was miserable and strained.  Like every urge and desire she was enacting was fire against her skin.  “You don’t understand.”

My fingernails sank into her hand.  “Make me understand, then.” I wanted to close my eyes to my own shamelessness.  After nibbling on me and licking at my neck, she wanted to stop so close?  “My lord, I - am not afraid of you.”  In response, her fingers curled against my stomach slightly, the tips of her nails like claws nearly cutting at my skin.

Her hand rose up, beneath the fabric of my shirt and lightly cupped one of my breasts.  I heard her stifle a noise, and mechanically, she circled her palm along me.  Afraid to close her hand or move her fingers.  But her palm was rigid and rough, and I found myself gasping lightly anyway.  Slowly, her fingers closed down on me.  Lightly, ever so lightly, until it wasn’t light.  It felt like her fingers twitched against me, and in that moment, stars burst into my eyes.  Pain!  Pain, I could feel myself bruise already.  And yet, unrestrained, I moaned against her touch.

I think it surprised her as much as me, because I felt her breathing stop.

“You’re so,” I felt myself hiss, “strong.”

My thighs rubbed together, and I could feel my arousal between them.  She was strong enough to kill me with one hand.  She was strong enough to bruise me with the barest tips of her fingers.  But she touched me so gently.  I felt tears in my eyes as I twisted my body, trying to get her fingers to reach my nipples.  I felt her face bury against my neck again.

“You smell so sweet,” Arthur mumbled, and her other hand slid around my waist.  I hadn’t considered the fact that her sense of smell might be better, but now that I was so aroused and she was so close, I felt shy.  “I can’t - I have to be careful.”  She sounded frustrated, even as her hand dipped between my thighs.  The flat of her fingers brushed against my slit and I nearly cried.  Fantasizing had no place in the realm of reality, and dreaming of her sword hardened fingertips made the truth much hotter.

Even if Arthur was nervous, I was not.  I bit my lip, grinding my hips downwards until her fingers were fully enveloped by my folds and rutted against her.  A pathetic mewling had started escaping me as I did, desperate to get her fingers in just the right place to rub me out.  She took the hint, lightly raking them back and forth, in response to my writhing.  With Arthur’s assistance, my mewling had turned into a panting whine.  Wrapped up against her body, and against her fingers, I felt myself quickly growing insane.

Then God, she found it.  I made a noise like a beast when her fingertip touched my clit, and thrust myself against her.  The friction against just the hood sent shivers down my spine, and Arthur honed in immediately, forming air light circles above and around it.  All the blood in my body honed into that one spot, making my limbs cold and my head light.  Arthur’s breath felt like fire on my neck.

In my fantasies and my dreams, it had been more sensual or desperate or romantic.  My voice cracked, and lungs squeezed tight.  Tightly, my legs clamped onto her wrist and I came.  My entire world felt dizzy, and I couldn’t even open my eyes for fear of vertigo.  Lightly, I felt Arthur’s tongue lick at the sweat on my neck and I heard her whisper something that my orgasm addled brain couldn’t process.

But there was something I kind of hoped she was saying.

I turned in the bed, facing Arthur for the first time today, and my breath was caught in my throat.  Her face which was hot, red and sweaty was beautiful.  I reached out and touched her cheek, savoring this expression that was new and full of life.  Her pale gold eyes didn’t look empty, not in that moment.

“Could I,” I murmured, starstruck by her warm face, “call you…?”

The door flew open without a single ounce of reverence.  Although chambermaids normally marked the time to get up in the morning, the body lingering in the doorway was not one of the maids in service.  I almost died of embarrassment, seeing Galahad’s completely unperturbed form enter.

The maids would always get him if they were too scared of embarrassed to get the king.  I put my face in my hands, fully aware that Galahad likely just stood in front of the door until I came.

“You’re making the maids work difficult, lord,” he said, validating all of my fears.  “I request that you make your liaisons with the court mage in the evening so that it does not disrupt routine.”

I didn’t need to look at him to know that Galahad’s impenetrable stare was fixed on the both of us.  Arthur shifted, and I felt her sit up and hang her legs off of the edge of the bed.  I’m glad only one of us was embarrassed by this, or else I’d feel silly.

“My affairs are my business,” Arthur replied, and for a second, she didn’t sound as cool and in control as she usually did.  “What I do with the court mage in here is - ”

“Private,” Galahad injected, sternly but softly.  A subtle tone of understanding.  “I make no desire to intrude.  However, the vice of a happy citizen is to gossip, so if you wish to maintain your privacy, then have your affairs out of earshot of the maids.”

I blinked my eyes open.  As hot as my face burned in that moment, I realized that he wasn’t here to berate us.  I glanced up, around Arthur’s back, and Galahad’s pallid expression was the same as always.  He was the one staff called when they didn’t know what to do, but he was also the unspoken pillar that supported Arthur this entire time.  Children trying to do better than their fathers.

Even after his father’s betrayal, Galahad stuck to what he knew.  His eyes met mine, and they were clear of prejudice and disgust.  I expected the kind of look a man would normally have after hearing a woman in the throws of passion - one I had seen from the occasional noblemen, making assumptions that were before today untrue.  But he just looked back at me and blinked.

Judging me or Arthur had never once been on his mind, only the judgment of others upon us.

“Thank you, Sir Galahad,” I summoned my voice, sitting up amid the covers.  “We shall be more careful in the future.”

Faintly, a smile rose to his lips and I felt like I had seen a second angel that day.  Neither of these idiots knew how to express themselves.  With a bow, he excused himself from the room and shut the door behind him.  What lingered was an almost uncomfortable silence.  I got up from the bed first, despite Arthur being halfway there.

Normally, I went to another room to change, but in that moment, I felt bold enough to strip.  I did not need to wonder if she was looking at my body, because I knew that about her.  My  back was turned anyway, the most lewd sight being my damp thighs.  I couldn’t avoid having to wipe them clean with a wash cloth.  As I changed into new underwear, she finally spoke.

“Is there a future?” She asked, guarded.  Not wanting to admit to wanting more, nor strong enough to conceal it completely.  I looked at the perfect bruises on my chest, almost a flawless imprint of Arthur’s fingertips.

A cluster of bubbles rose to my throat.  A giddiness I had been trying to restrain.  I looked at her over my shoulder, “you need me, after all.”

It was all over the castle by the time Arthur settled down for the supplications.  There was no subtlety to it, despite their best efforts.  Housekeepers kept their voices to a whisper as I passed them, and younger members of the staff exchanged rosy expressions.  I was reminded of my perceived status as a succubus with nearly every person I encountered.

It was all fine, so long as I wasn’t seducing the king it seemed.  There was no outright rudeness, of course.  So long as I shared the king’s bed, that was a dangerous game.  However, I passed one man in the hallway who undressed me with his eyes and put me in every position.  I didn’t need magic to know what he was thinking of, nor did I need magic to know that he wondered if I would take time to visit him as well.

I ran my fingers through my hair, embarrassed.  When it was heroes and Servants spending all their time fantasizing about you, it was different.  You knew they couldn’t do anything to you, because you had one fail safe against them.  When it was men and women, out of my control, it was a little scary.

I spent the day at Arthur’s side, as I usually did.  Eyes forward, expression still.  Listening intently to all the words exchanged, thinking solutions if I could.  When the supplication ended, there was a period while the citizens were escorted out of the room where I could stretch and, if Arthur would allow it, sit.  She always did, and now I felt embarrassed to accept it.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, quiet enough for only me to hear.  Out of surprise, I looked at her.  Her brow was creased in some shade of concern, which was the only visible color of emotion on her face.  Arthur had a way with masking everything, and despite myself, I found this mild expression charming.  “My indiscretion has caused you trouble.”

My heart thudded in my ear.  It was two simple sentences, but I found myself increasingly anxious about answering them.  I tried to misplace the concern, to something or anything else.  But, with a red face, I choked on my own tongue.  With no proper response, I stood as the noblemen were filed in.

Thinking on it, I suppose it wouldn’t be strange for Arthur to notice things.  The way some members of the staff looked at me this morning was inappropriate, but that was the nature of the beast.  In their eyes, I wasn’t human.  I looked at her from the corner of my eye.  Even though she acted differently this morning, her face was hard and cool as it always was. Just like she king she had met a long time ago.

But she was different.  Her face was fuller, her eyes weren’t darkened.  Her shoulders were not so shrugged and slouched.  I brought my eyes forward again. That bubbliness settled at the back of my throat again.  I was happy, far more than I should’ve been.  Feeling hot and blushed, I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

The day concluded early, which had been a general trend since the onset of winter.  Most lords did not want to travel the frozen roads to Camelot, and were content to coordinate through letter or simply wait.  At this point, I had gotten into the habit of making Arthur take a lunch.  She often said she would, upon retiring to her study, but when I went to speak to the staff it wasn’t the case.

“Fox,” Arthur spoke up first, before I had the chance.  She stood close to me, but seemed not to know what to do with her hands.  “Could I…trouble you for your time?  You usually take my time at this hour, but…”

I felt an overwhelming shyness.  “That would be fine, so long as you remember to eat.”

Her face twitched slightly, and she looked downwards.  “I feel rather self conscious.  Like, I,” she paused.  “It must be frustrating for you.  I apologize.  Give me some time to put words to it.”

Just like that, it was done.  Business as usual.  In the dining hall, she was served something light but warm.  Hot drink, and warm food.  In the beginning, I had to practically hand feed her.  Then, slowly, she ate on her own.  Now, she ate substantially more than a normal person.  Even a light lunch would appear sizable when prepared for Arthur.

I picked at her food myself, and got her talking about policies and the like.  Who she was going to speak with, what kind of things she needed ordered.  Things she would need me to do, something to keep her occupied.  This time, though, she ate in a focused silence.  Her brow tightened and the tip of her thumb pressed against her front teeth in focus.

“I’ve done this in the wrong order,” she said tersely, after a member of the staff brought a basin for her to wash her hands.  “Your time, Fox, am I still allowed?”

I had nearly the time to wash my own hands before she closed the space between us.  The server looked away from us coyly, and a nefarious gleam in her eyes made me think she already knew the whole story.  I kind of wanted to ask her what it was.

“Yes, lord,” I answered, bewildered.  My time wasn’t going to be better spent squirreled away in Merlin’s workshop, after all.  “Have I upset you, my king?”

It was like I had struck her with lightning.  Her whole body seized up in surprise, which was a stark contrast to the only mildly surprised expression on her face.  Then, it eased slowly, and her expression settled into something - different.  It was something like the one I saw this morning, but nothing at all like it.  Far away, but faintly warm.

“No,” She answered me,  “It’s cold outside, but would you like to walk with me?”

One surprise after another.  Until that point, I had never seen Arthur leave the castle outside of her duties.  When I nodded, she spoke with one of the stewards and had them bring furs.

I had no winter clothes of my own, but Merlin’s outfit had kept me fairly warm within buildings.  It was probably because of the mana currents keeping it hot.  But, in rain and snow, it wasn’t a viable option.  I had been meaning to get my own coat, but hadn’t the opportunity.

My face felt like it was on fire as Arthur covered my shoulders with one of her fur cloaks.  It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and the tails of it pooled on the ground.  She tilted her head, looking from up to down to see if she was satisfied.  Wordlessly, she offered her hands.

I looked at her palms, and lightly accepted them.  Arthur had always been trying to avoid touching me before the winter.  Now, she simply gave me her hands when she wanted me.  Lead by her loose grip, I followed her out to the castle grounds.  I had expected her to talk to me at all, or explain anything, but she didn’t.  Instead, she led me to a spot that was protected by balconies, that made the castle town easy to see.

Both of us were such awkward people, it seemed.

“I don’t look often enough,” Arthur said, as the first flecks of snow began to pile.  “I didn’t think I needed to.”

Her words lingered in the cold air, and I thought about them hard.  Up until I had arrived, she had been doing fine from the standpoint of a citizen.  She broke and broke until there was nothing else to give but her blood.  To her, duty was only in action, not vision.  I realized that Arthur had no time for ideals.  No patience, no mercy, no wiggle room.  She was not grasping at an ideal anymore.  In that way, she was different than Artoria, striving.

I looked at her profile, fixed on the town just beyond the walls.  Her expression had never been empty, it had been overfilled.  Her heart had never been empty, like she thought, it was crowded.  She had nothing more in her body to give, but she tried to tear out each bone to offer it.

She turned her head to look at me, and now her expression was full.  Not empty, searching for something else.  But complete, filled, to the point of boiling over.  I hadn’t realized it until that moment, and more than ever, I realized how beautiful she was.

“There will be people who talk, and I cannot control that.” She said faintly, and lifted the hand that joined us.  “Be known that I was not ensnared by your magics, or your wiles, but your kindness.  Your desire to be here, with me and Camelot, to reach your hands out to try and support me.”

Descending onto her knees, Arthur brought my hand against her lips.  “Before all of Britannia, and God Himself, I vow to you Ritsuka of Fujimaru my love.” She raised her head enough to look me in the eyes.

And I’m frustrated.  I’m frustrated because I had been feeling her this whole time, pieces of her, and I knew this.  I knew this, but, when she said it, my eyes wouldn’t stop overflowing.  My emotions, my eyes, my insides rebelled against me, and I brought my free hand to my mouth to stifle a sob.  The bubbles had finally reached the surface, and the giddiness overflowed.

Even though I knew how both of us felt, I was disgustingly and overwhelmingly happy.

Rising to her full height, Arthur gently pulled me against her chest.  Like a love struck idiot, I blubbered wordlessly as she stood with me in the cold.  “Somehow,” I sniffed, catching handfuls of fur from Arthur’s cloak.  “I found myself filled with you.”  I felt her hunch slightly, dipping her head towards me and I looked up.

At first, Arthur’s kiss was so light that I didn’t realize it was happening.  Like a breath on my lips.  Then, as it sank into my mind, she leaned forward more.  Pressing her mouth harder against mine until I felt like I was on the verge of bruising, and I opened my mouth in response.  Arthur didn’t even wait a second before driving her tongue in, pressing and wrapping in every place it was able.

Feeling my body tremble from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, I cried a moan into her mouth.  Something she responded to by gently biting on my tongue and pulling away from me.  My heart pounded in my chest, and at this distance, I could hear hers as well.

“I,” Arthur began, and I saw color in her cheeks.  “I will have nightmares if you don’t sleep beside me.”

I bobbed upwards, pressing a light kiss on her lips.  “Well, I can’t have that.”

I wanted to say that when we parted it was business as usual.  That we went out separate ways, did our separate work, and rejoined at supper without any difficulty.  But that much would be a lie.  We did separate, sure, but I knew neither of us was the slightest bit focused or calm.  My head was abuzz with endorphins, describing to me every domestic and lewd detail I had been resisting until that point.  My fingers were trembling messes, and I had to give up on making notes in favor of trying to cool my burning body by the windows.

When we met back for supper, we were captives of a full dining table.  Landed lords pontificated across the oaken table, trying their best to create a better image of themselves to Arthur as they did.  They chattered with each other about the strength of their standing armies, and the defense of their land against barbarians.  Though, the barbarian statement was spoken in a softer tone, regarding me in the corner of their eyes.  Arthur, to her credit, maintained something of a conversation and had I not been so familiar with her face I would’ve been fooled into thinking she was the same.

There was the slightest touch of color on her ears and cheeks, and her narrowed eyes had a glitter.  It was a waiting game now.  When she looked at me, I felt the whole world close in.  Even though there was a body between us at the table, I wanted to reach out.

There must have been too much hot wine passed around, as the man across from me leaned forward.  “I never seen a succubus in person before,” he said with the slightest slur on his lips.  “You are pretty.”  In that moment, I realized he was on a dangerous slope.  I tried to interrupt him, but he continued, “I would have use for such a lovely creature in my court as well.”

With a forceful clack, Arthur interrupted him finally.  Her cup nearly splashed against the table, but her expression remained as stiff and narrow as always.  No, actually, I looked harder.  Her slit pupils seemed to burn holes into the lord.  “I’m afraid that the court mage is oath bound to Camelot’s court,” her words were calm, controlled and yet everything but.

And it was a mistake to make them, a different man took his opportunity to strike, “pray forgive me, my king.  But I’ve heard some concerning rumors.” I flinched instinctively, knowing that even if they hadn’t heard of our tryst this morning, we had been sharing a bed for awhile.  “What is your relationship with your court mage?”

The way he said my title came off as an insult, nearly spitting it out.  Almost immediately, we had been put on the spot like this.  The world of politics was small and filled with voices.  Arthur took a drink, and glanced at me for a moment.

“She’s my lover,” Arthur said simply.  A maid bought a small basin for washing hands, and she continued as if nothing could faze her.  All eyes turned to me and I felt my body burn hotly.  So quickly, so easily - even though personal matters could make or break the delicate balance of the kingdom.  Arthur stood and pulled out my chair for me, offering me her hand.

“If you will excuse us,” Arthur said, guiding me to my feet as she spoke, “we are going to retire for the evening.”

I had been surrounded by kings and knights and heroes for awhile now.  Before I came here to Camelot, even.  But there was something magical about having a king leading you by the hand, confidently and proudly.  Unashamed, with her head head upright.  My adrenaline shot through the ceiling as members of the staff eyed us. There was no mistaking anything at this point.

I squeezed her hand so tightly that I saw her look at me from the corner of her eye.  In that moment, there was nothing else in the world other than the king that I was holding on to.  I didn’t have to think of anything else.  That was for another day, another time.  When the door shut behind us, I spread my arms and drew her against me.  Her body heat and her thundering heart gave me an explanation for every ounce of her that I had been trying to shoulder.

“Am I comfortable?” Arthur asked, and the sheer absurdity of it all just made me laugh.

Pulling away from her, I tilted my head back and drew her into a kiss.  There was no shyness this time, and the minute she laid her lips on me, she had full intent to devour me.  Spreading my lips open, and sucking my tongue inside of her.  I resisted the weakening in my knees and busied my hands on the front of her leather cuirass, popping loose each button until it hung open between us.

It was no longer a fantasy that haunted me at night.  I broke away from Arthur’s lips to focus on my fingers as they sank against the hard but pliable muscle of her stomach.  It was better than I could’ve imagined, each perfect shape resisted against my fingers and the texture of her skin was remarkably soft.  As my fingers traced along the cleft of her muscles, I couldn’t help but feel possessed by my growing lust.

I glanced up at her face, and my heart burst as I was blessed with a new expression.  Unmitigated adoration was the what I called it.  Soft and focused, with her eyes trained upon me.  And her mouth - I leaned upwards to claim her smiling lips.  I wondered if I was the monster all along, because I wanted to eat every face that no one else got to see.

Somewhere between, I had clawed off her belt and pants.  With her white underpants bundled in my fists, I finally took the plunge to do what I had been resisting since that night on the battlefield.  Fully exposed to the air, I got a mouthful of her scent.  Not that I had any experience, but I’d definitely say that it was the scent of a king.  Her thighs tightened in surprise as I buried my face between her legs.

Arthur was wetter than she looked, and her juices smeared from her thighs to my cheeks and lips.  I heard her back collide with the door, but I wasn’t about to stop there.  I opened my mouth and took the first long lick of her sex.  I had only a glance at the king’s pussy before, but the taste was better than I had imagined.  I exhaled a muffled groan against her, my own excitement mounting, and I nudged against her harder to bury my tongue deeper into her slit.

Her hands shifted frantically from barely touching the top of my head to the wall around the door frame.  The gravity of that observation was lost on me until my tongue touched her clit.  Her hand, which had found the bar adjacent to the doorway, squeezed tight until the wood shattered under her grip.  Splinters fell between her fingers and I watched as blood pooled between each digit.  It went without saying - Arthur was strong.

I wasn’t about to let myself get turned off.  Sucking her skin into my mouth, I was going to destroy her fears.  When it came to it, I was going to be the one to eat her first.  As her breathing came in roaring gasps, I flattened my tongue and teased at her stiffened nub.  Her injured hand clawed further, turning the remains of the carved buffet into an indistinguishable mess.  I looked up at her face and savored the look on her face.

I was thankful to god, or whoever existed, because today, I was blessed with many different expressions.  My Arthur, red as wine, with tears streaming down her face looked so beautifully transfixed with pleasure.  I think she was trying to say my name but as my tongue brought her to climax, she was clearly unable.

Unsteadily, I rose to my feet and wiped my face with the back of my hand.  Even after drinking as much of her come as I could, her pussy’s juices were smeared all over my face.  She blinked at me through bleary eyes and lowered her head so I could kiss her.  Her tongue lashed out, licking her sex from my lips before I had the chance to speak, and Arthur held me tight against her with her injured hand.

I felt the slight dampness on my back from blood and twisted my face away.  “I hope you weren’t expecting to take me with that hand,” I reached behind me and pinched her palm.  “Go sit on the bed, lord, I’m going to have to clean that up.”

It took all of my willpower to stay strong when she slightly pouted.  Her lower lip peeked out slightly, and I nearly bit it.  Stepping out of the pants pooled at her ankles, Arthur took to the bed while I looked over the near powdered remains of the buffet.  Imagining her fingertips on my scalp made me shudder.   Though, I couldn’t tell if it was completely out of fear.

After retrieving and wetting some strips of cloth, I emboldened myself and settled over her thighs.  I saw her eyes drop downwards, catching sight of my loosened trousers, before having her attention brought to the offending hand.  “You need me to do everything for you, huh,” I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, spreading her palm open to look at the array of punctures across it.  Most of the larger splinters had fallen out on their own but, I winced as I pulled one free.  “I guess you liked it, huh?”

Completely oblivious to any pain, Arthur blushed.  “It was an interesting technique.” Her breath hitched as I pulled the last piece out and began to scrub the wounds.  Her other hand drifted near my belt, tugging it free as the fabric fell to my knees.  I gave a heavy sigh, trying to focus on wrapping Arthur’s hand as her fingers trailed the inside of my thigh.  “This position gives me a thought.”

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of my underwear, tugging it lower.  My hands slid from her palm to her shoulders, and my breath caught in my throat.  “Is that so?” I asked, feeling the cool air catch the dampness between my legs.  Arthur smiled faintly, her fingertips making patterns in my sticky quim as she drew upwards.

“As you saw, I can’t control my strength well when I get excited,” she said quietly, and she brushed the length of my sopping slit.  “In all the times I thought about taking you, I dreamed of filling you up with my fingers and turning you into my woman.” Heat trickled into my face and down my spine and I whined softly as she opened my lips with her rough fingers.  “But Fox, you’re so small.  Delicate, and surely, I,” She paused and I realized what she meant earlier.

If she was going to finger me, she might literally break my hips.  I thought about the railing crushed in her palms and the body of the soldier, cut like butter.  I thought about remains of the buffet just earlier, gripped in her throws of passion.  I realized with her hand beneath me, and me kneeling above her, that we both could get what we wanted.

I pressed my forehead against hers and kissed her softly, and I rolled my hips against her fingers.  Slowly, carefully, I guided her fingers into my more than willing entrance.  My body was more than ready from eating her out, and I only hissed in my own pleasure.  I stopped at the first knuckle, trying not to overwhelm myself and doing a horrible job.  “My king,” I moaned shaking my hips on her, driving her deeper inside of me.

Her hand trembled inside of me, and I reveled in the lust I was driving into her.  In my pride, I sank all the way down, filling myself to her knuckles.  I didn’t think of myself as particularly easy, but it was a struggle not to come right away.  I huffed and mewled, leaning backwards to try and resist the stars that were flooding my vision.  But Arthur was not done with me, even if she would not fuck me till I broke.  Instead she leaned forward, and against my shoulder, she sank her teeth into me.

I gasped and came immediately.  Her teeth surely broke the skin, and I should’ve been concerned, but I couldn’t focus.  I heaved a breath, her fingers not leaving me in the shocks of my orgasm and I reached out to her head.  Beneath her thick blonde hair, against her scalp, I drove my fingernails into her as I began to buck my hips on her hand with maddening force.  She sniffed and groaned into my flesh, and rolled her head backwards as I dragged my nails against the base of her horns.

In my delirious state, I thought my blood looked like a gorgeous lipstick on her and I wanted desperately to kiss it away.  “Arthur!!” I shouted, high on the race of pain in my shoulder and the pleasure surging between my legs.  Her eyes lit and I knew that I should not have even tried to ask.  She wanted to hear it, the affirmation of her being king.  As I fucked myself on her hand, she kissed me again, and I took my revenge by biting a wound onto her lip.

We were savages, I realized.  But her eyes glittered at me as her lip bled.  “Arthur,” I slurred again, licking at the wound before guiding her mouth to my shoulder.  “My king, Arthur.” I gasped, her tongue mimicking mine.

“Ritsuka,” Arthur purred against my fresh wound, “my woman.”

And I came, I came so hard my legs gave out.  My sight went white, and there was ringing in my ears.  There should’ve been pain in my shoulder, but I was filled with nothing but a pleasant hum.  As Arthur took her hand away, I numbly watched as she sucked her hand clean of my sex.  The blood from her lip smeared on her knuckles, and I weakly pulled her hand back to lick that blood away.

“Now you really look like a fox, lying on me and licking my hand,” Arthur laughed and her laughter sounded like the most beautiful kind of music.  Like something that had been saving up and released, beautifully and elegantly.  So much so that I nearly cried.

Nearly.

Instead, I buried my cheek against her and held her tight.  I pretended there was nothing wrong with being in love with her.


	5. Chapter 5

The coming of spring brought a wealth of new duties to partake in.  When the weather warms up, people tend to act a bit more irrationally.  A successful winter meant there was no trouble from inside, but the melted snow brought barbarians and invaders with it.  It was no sooner after people started changing to more seasonal clothes that the invasions began to nest on the fringes of Britannia.  I knew this was a problem that Artoria lived her life combating, but I was surprised by how prevalent an issue it was at this time.

“Picts, and north men,” Arthur explained to me as I nestled against her chest.  “Nothing out of the ordinary, but north men especially have a taste for stealing women.”

So, as she spent her time on campaign, I was requested to stay in Camelot.  Considering how well I did the last time I followed her into battle, I couldn’t find a reason to say no.  The kingdom ran itself, for the most part, and what decisions I made were fairly small.  Anything that seemed terribly important, I sent missive to Arthur for insight, for which she would always promptly reply.

I was a little lonely, though.  Galahad left with Arthur, as one of her best knights, and that was the breadth of people I really knew here.  Chatting with the staff and the occasional lord which passed Camelot on their business was filling enough, I supposed.  However, boredom didn’t pass easily over the weeks.

“You’re here every day now, don’t you have better things to do?” Morgan sighed, and I didn’t bother to turn and look at her.  Some days she kept to herself, but others she wanted to try and start something.  Lying my head onto an open tome, I reread one of Arthur’s letters for the hundredth time that day.  Although normally our correspondence was fairly formal, this one was different.

“I have to make sure I get some work done before the king comes back,” I replied, somewhat dreamily.  I had heard the exchange of love letters, poetry, and the like were staples of the knight’s form of courtly love but no part of me expected to receive any.  Especially when it was coupled with another, professional reply on a separate sheet or parchment.  “This is my better things to do.”

Everything contained on the paper was par for the course of the era, supposedly.  Painstakingly waxed prose regarding beauty and adoration.  Elaborate rhyme schemes discussing her longing.  My face burned, and I narrowed in on a single sentence.  “When I am nigh overwhelmed with my pining, I merely touch the scarred kiss you left me and know that I carry you with me foremost.”

I felt like wheezing.  Every girl dreams of their knight in shining armor.

“You’re as red as your hair,” Morgan sighed, and I heard her shift on the lounge in her cage.  “I can only assume you’re not working at all.  Which one is it?  Galahad?  He’s been in here quite a bit.”  Her voice took a purring, and I realized where this was going to go but I was totally incapable of stopping it.  “No, he bats his eyes at Mordred too much for that.  Oh!”

I whipped my head around, and I opened my mouth to stop her.

“You’re fucking Mordred, aren’t you?” She began to drift closer to the bars, and they crackled like static at her presence.  The words got caught in my throat, like I had been caught doing something bad.  She laughed, “well, I can’t blame you.  She’s the spitting image of her father.  As much as I hated her, I fucked that as hard as I could.”

That familiar bile rose in my throat.  My indignance as a Master, and as a lover made me sick.  My smarter mind told me not to say anything, and to let her stew in silence.  That was the smart thing to do, honestly, it really was.  However, I already found myself so close to the bars I could smell the wine on Morgan’s breath.  “What the king does in her bedchambers is none of your concern.  You’re neither her mother nor her sister now,” I hissed, finding myself baring my teeth as I spoke.

Morgan laughed at me.  “Idiots like you are so easy to read,” she replied.  Before I could respond her hand shot from between the bars, and the fierce snapping of magic flooded my ears.  Her fingers sank into my neck and I tried to gasp and wrench myself free, but her grip was too strong.  Fear kicked in sharply as my brain realized I couldn’t breathe and I could only helplessly claw at her now burnt arm.

Every single circuit in that arm was violently shredded from her system, and the skin almost bubbled from the degree of burns, but her expression said she couldn’t be bothered to care.  I was now so close I could see her eyes, the same shade as Artoria’s.  Her pupils had shrunk so small I could barely see them.  “Don’t get so smug, you miserable cur,” her voice came in a terrible hiss, and I tried to shout out or even gag but found myself unable.

“You keep me here out of fear, and eventually I’ll get out, and I will make that worthless son of mine finish what we started,” she bared her teeth as she spoke, flashing all too familiar canines.  Her fingertips squeezed so tight on my windpipe, I could feel blood well.  “And you, child of Merlin or whatever you are, you will be first.”

Finally, she released me and I fell to my knees.  Wheezing and coughing, I watched as she withdrew her destroyed arm.  Her emerald eyes burrowed into my skin.  “Go back to your love letters, little fox.  Mordred must have worked hard on them.” She purred maliciously, popping each knuckle on her burned hand.

I didn’t like the way she said that.  “Little fox.”  It was not her place to call me that.

Touching my throat, I rose to my feet and turned my back to her.  Of all the things in my head, I couldn’t think of a damn response.  Morgan had a way of doing that. Breaking someone down in so few words.  I let my fingers go from my neck to my shoulder, tracing the outline of where Arthur had buried her teeth into me and for some reason, I felt a little more calm.  I was carrying her kiss on me as well.

I spent less time in the workshop from then on, and thankfully, the bruises on my neck were fully healed before Arthur sent notice of returning home.  There were faint traces of Morgan’s nails left, but as time folded into weeks, even those faded.  Though I worried Arthur’s sharp eyes would catch sight of them, I was overwhelmed by the pure energy of her return.

Soaked in sweat and smelling of horses, my king broke through the doorways without a single stop and swept me in her arms.  At any other time, I would’ve complained, but it had been just a bit too long.  One of her horns had been lopped in half, but she was relatively unharmed, and as she lifted me from the ground, I was blinded by her smile.  Marred by my over excited bite upon her lips, my Arthur was beautiful.

“My fox,” Arthur greeted, and the way she said it eased all the bile in my stomach.  “I have missed you so dearly.”

I blushed, mindful of the growing crowd in the throne room.  Although their affair wasn’t a secret, it was something usually kept to privacy.  There was a variety of reasons for that, but none of them seemed to matter.  Held above the ground, I grasped either side of her cheeks and kissed her.

“Dear king, welcome home,” I said against her lips, and my god, she actually twirled me in front of all of the lords and staff in the room.  I laughed, out of excitement and shyness.  “Come now, lord, everyone is watching.”

As if that was the first time she had even considered it, Arthur glanced to either side of her.  Slowly, she set me back down to the ground and buried her nose against the top of my head.  “Just a moment longer,” she breathed against me.  “Let them look.”

I knew how hard it was for her to hold me, because as strong as she was, she could hurt me.  I knew that sometimes, she was afraid to touch me for that reason.  I knew that we should be a little discreet, all things considering.  But I felt the tightness of her embrace and heard the symphony of her heart.  Oh, I thought closing my eyes.  I love her.  “You need to bathe, lord,” I whisper, so quiet only she could hear.

And I felt her smile, “you will be helping, will you not?”

Well, I need to do everything for her, don’t I?

The wash tub was not meant for two people, I realized.  The water spilled haphazardly over the edges of it, but that didn’t really stop us.  I whimpered and moaned just from her tongue in my mouth, and shivered as our wet naked bodies touched.  Although Arthur’s reactions were often subdued, I could feel her tremble as well and almost growl into my mouth as we writhed in the hot soapy water.

Her hands ran down my back, and settled on my ass.  I broke away from her lips to gasp as Arthur squeezed and spread them apart.  “Where do I start?” She groaned in such a way that sounded like she was in pain.  Arthur nuzzled her face against my chest, almost like she was pouting, as her hands continued to knead my butt.

Before I have the chance to say something smart, she decided on her own.  Effortlessly, her hands pushed me up, and I gripped her horns for balance.  Ever since I did it the first time, this had become one of Arthur’s favorites.  Extending her tongue out, Arthur literally slurped at my mound and, after all this waiting, I practically shouted.

Goddamn, I felt her smile into my pussy and it was attractively smug.  I leaned forward, grasping the edge of the tub so that she had better access.  Which she did graciously, spreading my lips wide with her thick tongue and pillaging every sensitive inch of me.  Mewling and whining, I trembled in her palms as she buried her tongue past my hole’s first ring of muscle.  Never had I thought to be tongue fucked before Arthur, but now it was easily an addiction.

As her tongue wriggled, my eyes rolled to the back of my head.  Try as I might to hold out, over a month of taking care of myself had my body craving her attention again.  In heated, unfocused puffs, I tried to warn her.  “Arthur,” My hips betrayed me, bobbing lightly on her mouth, “go-good.  I,” I chewed on that last word, feeling my dizzying climax sneaking up on me.

Her fingers sank into me, so hard I knew it would bruise, and that was simply the height of too much.  So loudly even the raunchiest maid would blush, I blubbered her name over and over as I came.  Tears of relief had long since clouded my vision, and my face was positively wet with that and drool.  Luckily, I couldn’t see myself in any reflection, as I was fucked practically blind.

Even though I normally boasted my stamina, my body sank on hers like a brick in the water.  It was a bit embarrassing, especially since I hadn’t even touched her yet.  Arthur laughed softly, pressing her lips to the scar on my shoulder.  “My Ritsuka, you got the attention of all of Camelot with that one,” she said teasingly, drawing me into a hug.  “It’s nice to truly undo you now and then.  It’s only fair.”

My brain wasn’t totally clear, the endorphins keeping me dizzy, but I pouted.  “But I wanna touch you too,” I whined rubbing my cheek against her chest.  “I missed you.”

With one hand, she cupped water and brought it over my shoulders and hair, rinsing my sweaty body off.  “There is plenty of time, dear fox,” Arthur soothed, running her fingers against my scalp.  “After dinner.  Before I left, we had a tailor fashion you something elegant.  Would you wear it?  We’ll be dining with many of the lords and ministers in the kingdom.”

Distracted by the gentle pressure of her fingertips, I dreamily answered, “of course.”

I didn’t really think it through.

The Merlin cosplay that I wore every day was a part of maintaining my image.  Without it, I wouldn’t be able to do basic magic, much less feats I’d been known to do.  Presented with the, while very lovely, elaborate dress with painstakingly detailed brocade, I was at a loss on how to proceed.  It was, of course, simply dinner and there shouldn’t be any reason to need to be a mage, however, my own fears crept in.

Morgan’s burnt arm, and her wild green eyes.  Her promise against me.  I breathed, and stared at the gown.  I felt lucky that Arthur had to prepare in advance, or else she’d be staring me down on why it was such a problem.  Then again, she would be there with me.  Any issue that would come up would be deflected by her immense presence.

Tentatively, I dressed myself in a noblewoman’s clothing.  Something I did not know how to do.  After three attempts, a maid finally caught me struggling and helped me into it.  Which was good, because there was no way I’d be able to lace the bodice properly.  Her eyes glittered and she oohed and awed over the master needlework.  A fact that made me feel twice as embarrassed as I walked down the hallways.  Before now, I was a member of the court.  In this moment, it was very clear who I was.

I was the king’s lover.  Her favored one, at that.  I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, or how to read the eyes of the staff and citizens that I passed.  I was only sure when Arthur saw me again, and the lights shined in her eyes.  In the time that I had known her, I had gotten used to her expressions being calm and restrained.  I had come to read her excitement and her joy within these small shifts.  But, now, there wasn’t any subtlety to her expression.

“You’re,” Arthur’s eyes dropped from my head to my feet and back up.  “Beautiful.”

For a second, I didn’t realize her expression.  Then I noticed the tremble at her throat and the wetness in her eyes.  It dawned on me that physically, Arthur was at a complete loss for words.  As her lips twisted, trying to search for words, I reached out and pulled her head downwards.  Lightly, I pecked kisses along the scar I bit upon her lips.

In the moment that she struggled to find words on how beautiful I was to her, I was quite happy to be the king’s lover.

The formal dining hall was many times larger than the private one.  Not that it was surprising, of course, as it was meant to hold an island’s worth of officials and princes.  I had seen something similar in movies, with long tables the length of aged oaks, and low swinging chandeliers carefully hand lit.  However, it was always something to experience.  The scent of food and wood, to the core rumbling sound of overlapping chatter.

At the head of it all was the king’s own table.  If all the knights had been gathered, it might’ve been round, but those were days long gone.  Now, it was carefully carved but not overly long and sparsely decorated but for the food and goat horns filled with candle wax.  The closest of the king’s cabinet had the honor of sitting there.  Galahad and Percival, a noble who I knew to be the closest in relation to Arthur, and myself.

There was, of course, an empty seat for the Queen even though they had been divorced and she had left for a monastery.  Before now, it had been something I never gave any thought to.  There had been a formal divorce following the reveal of Guinevere’s affair with Lancelot, and following Camlann, she had left to become a nun.  But her position never went away.  There was always to be a space for the Queen, even if there was none.

As I lingered just on the other side of that space, I felt somewhat jealous.  Perhaps because I knew that Arthur had never been married to her, or perhaps it was that all the power of being the king’s lover had finally gone to my head.  Seeing the empty space for a woman that never belonged to Arthur made quite an ugly emotion.  One I never had to experience when we ate alone in the informal hall.

Perhaps she saw me staring, as our dinner continued, because there was something devious about the way she looked at me.  I wondered if she made me wait on purpose, seeing if I would be even more aggressive later if I was jealous.  As right as she might be, I felt my bottom lip poke out as I ran my finger along the lip of my cup.

I almost didn’t notice when she rose to her feet to make her speech.  It was the usual fare about fighting off invaders with the help of every province under Arthur’s leadership.  Arthur wasn’t a very strong speaker, nor was Artoria really, but the both of them had such a firm foundation to what they said that it captured the audience.  They never spoke anything they didn’t believe.  I leaned against the table and admired the perfect line of her back, no longer miserable and hunched.

“And that brings me to my final words this eve,” Arthur said, after cheering to the prosperity of Britain.  “Along the campaign of our borders, I have had this on my mind.  When I would return here, in Camelot, to drink with my fellows and celebrate our victories, there would be an empty space at my table.”

The room quieted to less than a whisper.  No one wanted to talk about the affair, much less the fate of Guinevere.  I nearly choked on my wine as well, at a loss for words or logic.

“A king requires a queen, and it’s only proper that I produce a legitimate heir for Britain,” She continued, and set her cup against the table.  “I have received many offers, from many beautiful daughters and many trusted allies.  Perhaps I should focus on forming bonds.”  I felt my face heat up.  I had no idea that Arthur was receiving such things.  It made sense, but I felt an ugly jealousy rise in my throat.  “But in front of God, and in front of all those who stand at my side, I will not hide my selfishness.”

I was at a complete loss for words, Arthur pulled my chair out and offered her hand out to me.  Gingerly, hesitantly, I took it and she guided me to the other side of the table where we were at full sight of every eye in the room.  My face was so hot that I felt like I had a headache, and inside I was lighter than air and dizzy.  Trying to put words to my feelings would give them permanence, and I feared that more than anything.

The king descended to not one knee but both, before all the princes and dukes in the realm.  Even though many of them simply thought of me as a demon witch, an extension of my wizard ‘father.’  Even though there were many far more qualified people in Britannia that would better fit the role.  Even though I was no one, in fact, and impure.  Arthur knelt at my skirt’s hem, holding my hands in her palms, and looked up at me like there was no one else in the entire world.

“In my battles, I thought of how you told me that Britannia would mourn over my injuries and I strove to protect myself.  And I realized that perhaps, I did not want you to mourn,” Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper, one she shared only with me.  “I cannot ask upon your father for your hand, but I must, dear Ritsuka, ask for it.”

My body weakened, and I nearly fell before Arthur grasped me and rose to her feet.  I struggled with words both externally and internally to describe the depths of my feelings.  There was nothing in me, nothing at all, but the word yes.  Yes, I struggled to say it out loud, even, because my body had fought so desperately to do so that it sabotaged my tongue.  My nails burrowed into Arthur’s leather cuirass as I tried to find feeling in my legs.

“Please,” I managed, somehow, against her neck. I wasn’t even sure if that was the right response, feeling my vision blur completely by tears.  The room burst into noise, none of which I could process.  Hooking her arm underneath my butt, she lifted me up from the ground.

There were a million things going in my mind.  Most of them trying to remember the proper ways one was supposed to act in this time period, or trying to be careful with myself.  But, I had lost my ability to reason with that point. Everyone was watching and judging.  Touching Arthur’s cheeks, I forcefully parted her lips with my tongue.  I felt her body twitch as I did, but I met no resistance.

If there were any objections, I don’t think either of us were able to hear it.  Even after the glow of it passed, and the feast dragged on, neither of us were in a state to listen.

It was a real shame about the dress.  It was pretty.  As soon as the door shut behind us, Arthur’s fingers hooked into the neck and tore it open from top to bottom.  As the remains of my dress pooled at my ankles, I tried to think of something witty to reply.  How much it must have cost for custom tailoring, or maybe how it didn’t even last twenty-four hours.  Instead, I could only think of how profusely wet I was.

It made me wonder why I bothered trying to contain myself.  Clawing at her cuirass and belt like a madwoman, I walked the both of us against the bed.  Arthur fell first, and I mounted myself onto her lap.  “Arthur,” I abandoned pretext of rank and order, hurriedly peeling off her clothes.  The excitement in her eyes made them sparkle, and I roughly bucked my wet pussy on her pelvis.  The rough material of her trousers made me gasp.  “Arthur, Arthur, __Arthur__.”

Pressing my face against her chest, I nosed her modest breasts.  Nipping and pinching with my lips and fingers until her breathing turned frantic.  My Arthur’s chest was small and beautiful and delicate, so different from the hard and sharp that encompassed most of her body.  More so, I loved the way she gasped when I sucked and bit on each nipple.  A sensitivity that only I could exploit.  It paid off, as her hand sank into my hair and against the back of my head.

I looked up at her, and awed over her blushed face.  “My queen,” she said, low and sultry but so loud that it resonated in my bones.  I never thought two simple words could set me ablaze, but my entire vision took a rosy color.  I never thought such blatant ownership could turn me possessive.  But hearing her say that made me, so feverishly, want to make love to her until she broke.

“Your queen,” I replied in a daze, running my palm from her stomach to the junction of her legs.  No matter how many times I rubbed her pussy or licked it clean, I could never shake off the power of feeling how wet I made my king.  Drenched through her undershorts, stuck to her thighs.  No one else but me could do that, I sank my hand beneath the hem and ran my fingers through her damp pubic hair.

Adjusting my position so that I could easily watch her face as I touched her, I allowed her to push herself free of the remainder of her clothes.  I watched her face relax, drowned in bliss, as I teased my fingers down her wet slit.  But I didn’t intend for that relaxation to last.  “Your queen,” I repeated, drunk, sinking my fingers into her folds to ride up and down her length.  “I’ve spent my time wisely, my Arthur.  Practicing something just for you,” I watched her body jump as I flicked at her clit.

Breathless, excited, and curious, Arthur whimpered.  “What?”

I wondered if I could even focus on it in the heat of the moment, but I forced myself to.  Withdrawing my fingers from her, I took the thaumaturgy I studied into a practical use.  Like fine lines of light, in the pattern of wires, I performed a shoddy attempt at magic.  If I had intended to use it for anything else, I doubt it would work.  However, for the purpose I needed it for, it was plenty.

I felt smug as she didn’t make the connection right away, and I returned my fingers to wet cunt.  “Reinforcement magic,” I replied, poising my finger at her virgin pussy.  “I’m gonna fuck you, my beautiful king.”

Slowly, so slowly I knew that she would whine, I pushed a single finger inside her.  As her strength was, it was definitely a fear that I would break a finger inside of her cunt.  That her muscles would clamp down on me and turn them into dust.  So, out of responsibility, I kept my passions to the surface.  But not this time.  I watched her eyes slip shut, and I felt a strange power knowing that I was the first person, besides herself, to have filled her pussy.

The inside of her body was boiling hot, and her muscles squeezed me so hard that it bordered on pain.  As I reached the base of my middle finger, Arthur was panting and whining in pleasure and frustration.  It was art, far more beautiful than I had comprehension to describe.  Her legs were tense and even though her eyes were shut, I could see the strain of them being rolled.

“Do I feel that good?” I teased, drawing my hand back to thrust into her.  Her hips bobbed in response.  Arthur gave me some sort of inarticulate reply, as if she couldn’t form words.  I held still, flush inside of her, as she writhed.  Unable to get any more from me nor able to force me to move.  She released a loud nasal whine, and her hands clawed at her thighs.  There was a greater power in knowing she wouldn’t touch me.

“Ritsuka, my queen, please,” my beautiful king broke into a beg, back arched against the bed.  A tear had bubbled into the corner of one of her eyes as she stared at me, and a primal part of me wanted to lick it from her cheek. “My queen.” She begged of me, and I could not be more hungry.

Drawing my finger back, I boldly attempted a second.  Even if the first went in easily, I felt the light strain of her body stretching to accommodate and yet my heart felt like it would explode.  With care, I went slowly to avoid creating a tear, as a man would thoughtlessly do, until my King Arthur was wrapped tightly around my fingers.  I tried to let my delicacy live for as long as I could, easing myself in and out of her at a gentle pace to let her body adjust to me.

But it was understandably quite hard, seeing my big strong Arthur crave for my little fingers to fuck her raw.

Only once I felt her body become accustomed to my shape did I feel confident in my aggression.  Her breathe shuddered as I began a steady pace, thrusting my fingers all the way to my knuckles with a resounding wet smack.  Arthur gasped sharply as I thrust into her with my full strength, the surface of my palm grinding against her wet slit.

Curling her upper lip, Arthur bared her teeth to me as she groaned into my touch.  I wanted to call her cute and beautiful, but my attention was out of focus.  Lightly, I curled the tips of my fingers, searching out that sweet spot inside her.  Arthur tossed her head backwards, letting me know exactly where to press.  Gently, at first, I began to tap that spot.

I felt like a musician, drumming against her as she wantonly cried out in pleasure.  She squeezed me, and I felt the creak in my bones as the magic prevented them from breaking.  Strangely painful and incredibly arousing, I could feel every impossible ounce of her strength as she came on me.

Withdrawing my fingers from inside of her, we remained connected by a lovely thread of come.  Even if I had prevented any long term damage, I could see my fingers had become bruised and swollen in the attempt.  A small price to pay.  Bleary and dazed, my Arthur tried to catch her breath as I pressed kisses onto her lips.

With a pounce, she turned me on my back and we started again.  Spending what felt like a blissful eternity between the sheets, neither of us had any intention or desire to stop.  But eventually, we did, soaked in sex and sweat and not minding it an ounce as we huddled close to each other.  Moments like that had blocked my memory of why I was there, and I was content to not remember.


	6. Chapter 6

Where I’m from, or perhaps, when I’m from the bride has a lot to do with the wedding.  Even girls who were indifferent about being married and being a wife get a little worked up when it comes to making everything perfect.  That mentality happened sometime after King Arthur’s court.  All the preparations were done by planners, and stewards and hosts, sometimes asking me about one opinion or the other.  But mostly, I was there as something to measure.

 

I wanted to express my displeasure, but the part of me that had better judgment won that fight.  Even as a witch or a demon, it wasn’t my place to say these sorts of things.  Instead, I decided to enjoy the choices that I got.  Whether I wanted my dress in satin or velvet or silk and the particular shade of sapphire that would highlight the gems encrusted into the hem.

 

“Sapphires,” Arthur remarked, running her fingers along the satin, “you are lovely in blue.”

 

After awhile, it wasn’t so bad, I think.  In a way, having someone else take care of things took the stress from me.  Goodness knows, I would’ve made some kind of social faux pas to make some kind of ideal wedding.  Britannia was too Christian, too old for my sensibilities.  A point I hadn’t even considered too closely until a priest had finally the courage to voice an objection.

 

“Heresy, lord,” said the graying man bundled in church robes.  “God would certainly come down to strike us if we allowed your joining in our church.  There must be compromise.”

 

I knew that people overlooked many things in response to Arthur’s just rule, but I wish they knew how ridiculous it looked to demand Christian values from someone with giant horns growing out of their head.  I glanced between the monk and Arthur, and I answered him first, “what sort of compromise would you be suggesting?”

 

He blinked at me like I was a madwoman, speaking before Arthur had the chance.  Then he cleared his throat, “it’s as simple as being born again.  A baptism will prove to the church and God that this union is blessed.” His hands clasped together in a way that made him look like he was begging.  I wonder if he thought I would melt in the water if it were blessed, or if he thought he’d get some reward in heaven for baptizing a demon.

 

Arthur looked over her shoulder at me and if I were anyone else, I would’ve thought it was a glare.  Instead, I read her expression as questioning.  Would I be okay with that?  I realized I might have to explain the truth to everyone soon.  I nodded faintly to her, choosing to let her speak for me.  Pretty soon that would be commonplace, so I had to get used to the idea.

 

“Please, make preparations,” Arthur answered leaning into her throne, and the monk offered his thanks.

 

Japan wasn’t particularly religious.  Even the cultural religion, it’s not taken the same way as the British might treat Christianity.  It’s something that’s a part of daily life, that wasn’t necessarily taken seriously.  Good luck charms, hopeful thinking.  I wasn’t a part of the lifestyle that made up even modern Britain.  It seemed somewhat alien to me, even after knowing Saints and heroes.

 

So, obviously, I had never been baptized before.  Hell, I had never even attended a Catholic school.  It was a blessing in and of itself that everyone thought I was a druid of some kind that they told me the information I needed to know.  The meaning and significance of things.  The general process.  At first description, it didn’t seem so bad, honestly, and my confidence was high.

 

My legs felt numb in the cold water in early spring.  The current ran between them, nearly pushing me off my feet with its strength.  The effort was what saved me from trembling too hard, a thin white linen dress being the only shred of my dignity.  On the banks stood a crowd of church authorities and noblemen, Arthur at the head of it all.  There was duty in a large audience, I supposed.

 

My teeth clattered as the priest began speaking.  I was told it wasn’t a long process, but any amount of time felt like forever when you were cold.  Besides that, I was told not to try and bundle myself up.  It would seem like I was resistant.  So, I stood there with my arms glued to my sides as he recited his rite.  “In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord,” the priest bellowed over the sound of rushing water.

 

The entire congregation replied with a dull, “amen.”

 

Pressing his thumb against the lip of a bottle, he brought it to my forehead.  “I anoint thee: in the name of the father,” his oil brushed thumb touched my brow, then dropped to the center of my chest.  “The Son,” and he moved from shoulder to shoulder.  “And the Holy Spirit.  Amen.”

 

That was when I knew to brace myself and I tried not to flinch as his hand touched the top of my head.  With no force, he pushed me beneath the surface of the water.  I was told it could take any amount of time, but it felt like he was making a point in keeping me below.  As if I needed extra time to wash out the sins of being a succubus.  Just as I felt like I might’ve needed air, he released me and I shot upwards, gasping.

 

“I now pronounce you baptized and born again,” the priest touched the sides of my face.  “Now under the Christian name of Rohesia.” Without even a glance to my wet body, he pulled me into a friendly embrace.  Something I might have objected to if I wasn’t so cold.

 

Letting me go, he brought the ceremony to a close with a short prayer.  All members of the congregation descended to a kneel, but I could feel Arthur’s eyes burn at my body.  I spared myself a light glance, seeing that the thin linen did nothing to hide my breasts and nipples now wet.  I folded my arms over my chest out of embarrassment.

 

I waded through the water as everyone stood back up, and Arthur met me half way.  Sloshing through the running current, she swooped me up bridal style as soon as she could get her hands on me.  Until that moment, I hadn’t really noticed how terribly warm Arthur’s body was, and I didn’t bother worrying about her cotehardie getting wet as I clung to her.

 

“Rohesia,” Arthur nuzzled her nose against my cheek.  “It’s fitting.”

 

Steadying my breathing, I shamelessly placed a kiss on Arthur’s lips.  “How so?”

 

My king smiled at me against my lips, “rose.  My rose.”

 

I wasn’t going to be calling myself Rohesia any time soon, but the way Arthur purred in my ear made it sound beautiful.  Shrugging her travel cloak off her shoulders, she wrapped the both of us up as she waded back to the banks.  Just that small amount had returned the warmth to my body, and I wrapped my arms around her neck.

 

Those in attendance took their turns speaking to the both of us.  Mostly it was compliments thinly veiled as surprise I didn’t burn to a crisp during the rite.  Others spoke about the date of the wedding, something that I was only vaguely aware of.  “At the first full moon of summer,” answered Arthur with a faint sparkle only I could see.  “The best time for roses to bloom.”

 

I buried my face in her shoulder, embarrassed.  For someone who spoke with barely any emotion in her voice, she said such smooth things so easily.  It must truly be the talent of a knight above a king.  The sweetness and romance of it all had disarmed me enough that when it was just the two of us on her mount I was surprised.  I moaned as her hands hiked up the bottom of my dress beneath the cover her her cloak.

 

“Anyone can see us, lord,” I sighed, her fingers tracing patterns on my damp thighs.

 

Her teeth brushed against my ear.  “I’m feeling quite jealous.” She said in a growl, her hands sliding beneath my dress and against my tummy.  “Everyone there got a glimpse of your beautiful body.” Cupping my breasts in her hands, she bit down on my neck to the point of bleeding.

 

In the time that we had been intimate, my body had already been trained for this.  Just the sensation of her breaking my skin made me hot and wet.  I breathed, her tongue licking at the wound while she squeezed my chest.  She had gotten better at handling me, and was able to pinch at me without bruising me.  At least until I wanted her too.

 

“So your solution is to fuck me as we travel back to the castle,” I teased enjoying the sensation of her rough fingers rolling my nipples.  The strength of her pinching sent shocks of pleasure below my stomach.  I had to admit, too, the idea of being walked through the castle town like this was doing me no favors.  The ache in my cunt was already unbearable.

 

Insistent on toying with my chest, Arthur didn’t bother to relieve my arousal.  “I want to remind your body as soon as possible that you’re my woman,” Arthur finally trailed her fingers downwards, and propped me up enough that I was sitting on her thighs rather than the horse.  Her fingers ghosted over my slit.  “My woman,” she just barely ran her finger through me, “my fox,” she repeated the motion, nearly pushing into my folds.  “My Ritsuka,” finally she sank her finger into my lips, swirling around my clit.  My breath hitched.

 

“My queen,” Arthur pressed kisses against the bite on my neck.  “My rose.”

 

I caught my breath as her finger teased above my hooded clit.  The opportunity to moan as I pleased had since passed as we crossed into the limits of the castle town of Camelot.  The sight of the king was auspicious, after all, and people clamored to the street sides to watch our procession.  I locked my jaw, her fingers not ceasing their assault on my pleasure center as we passed.  

 

No doubt my face was burning red, but I wondered if they even noticed.  They could’ve thought it was the cold water making me flush.  My lungs pounded and I had to take a shaky breath as we strode with no urgency.  Arthur’s fingers dipped downwards, coating themselves in my slippery wetness before circling my clit again.  Just rough enough to drive me crazy but far too gentle to make me come.

 

I wanted very much to be furious.  Having her fuck me in such a nearly public way was opposite of what either of us wanted, I think, but I couldn’t fight.  The excitement pounded in my skull, and having relinquished nearly all power to Arthur, I accepted that she wouldn’t betray me.  My chest heaved as I struggled to keep a straight face.

 

“You’re doing a good job, dear rose,” Arthur said quietly, and punctuated her praise with a flick of my clit.  I bit back a noise, which came as an exhale from my nose.  “Just a little more.”  I could scarcely believe how cold I was earlier compared to how hot I was now.

 

Citizens crowded the sides of the street, eager to watch the procession, completely oblivious to my suffering.  In their eyes, the king and his intended were sharing a riding cloak after a morning baptism.  The subtlest movement of Arthur’s hands and wrists were hidden and the only visible tell was my face that I struggled to restrain.  Even closing my eyes against her rubbing would be too obvious, knowing I would roll them to the back of my head at a moments weakness.

 

Nearly as fast as we passed the castle walls, just beyond the public eye, her finger squared in on my clit and I couldn’t fight anymore.  Even as I tried to bite down on my moaning, it came as muffled cries reverberating off the stone architecture.  In moments, she had me coming, wriggling my hips to enjoy every twitch of her finger and effectively staining a perfectly nice pair of underwear.

 

Drenched in nearly every fashion, I tried to catch my breath as Arthur pressed kisses into my damp hair.  “Yes, that belongs just to me,” she seemed so content with herself that it was almost a crime.  “My fox, dear rose, nothing stands between us and eternity.”

 

Everything had been so wonderful that I had put it out of my mind.  But those words brought me back into reality.  I felt sick.  Playing princess was fun and good, but I was there for a reason.  The unbridled happiness in Arthur’s tone only made it worse.  The undisguised happiness in my gut only made it worse.  My hands rubbed together and I wondered when this fairy tale would come to an end.

 

While I stewed in my dread, all of Britannia took the entire spring to prepare for the upcoming nuptials.  Under Arthur’s refreshed leadership, the kingdom flourished far more than any successor to Artoria could ever accomplish.  Fields were sown, lands were protected.  Magic kindled in the heart, blessing each opportunity that arose.  The Age of Gods was not over, but rather beginning a renaissance.

 

At the center of it all was my king, who refused to die when she should have.

 

Needless to say I’ve never been married, but I’ve gone to weddings before.  Extended family, a few kids from my school.  I was always a member of the audience, and frankly, I never really considered being married until I came to Camelot.  I had always pictured something small, without a lot of circumstance, if I had to think of one.  Marrying someone I met working in an office, or something along that nature.

 

Saying I was going to marry a king was something of a joke.  There weren’t many kings in my day and age, and the ones that existed hadn’t any real authority.  It was just as common to marry a king as it was to find a real knight in shining armor.  It was as unlikely as a complete nobody becoming the savior of mankind.  Yet, I had that kind of special luck.

 

Even if there was a bittersweet note to it, I consider my wedding day to Arthur as the happiest day of my life.  I was dressed in gem encrusted satin, with my hair tediously tied up in a way that took all morning.  Women carefully patted my skin tone even with powder, painted my eyes and lips.  Pinned heavy ornate jewelry on my ears and draped it around my neck.  In the mirror, I looked like someone I had never seen before but always dreamed of.

 

A fairy tale princess, I suppose.  The kind found in more pleasant versions of Anderson tales.  The dressing maid giggles conspiratorially at me, noting the low collar of the dress.  “I heard the king picked this one special,” she batted her eyebrows.  I wondered how much knowing Arthur wanted to see my cleavage mattered when everyone knew we were intimate.

 

I ran my hand down the exposed line.  I didn’t consider myself incredibly busty, but I wondered if my perceptions were skewed.  “The king is a gentleman.  He chose this because he fancies the blue on me,” I answered confidently.  The ladies giggled between each other, and later I would learn its because blue signified purity.

 

A trait all of us knew I didn’t have by that point.

 

But at the time none of that mattered.  Only the faintly damp warmth of British summer and the explosion of color.  Mages of many feather across the kingdom had taken part in flooding the church front with blooms of roses.  Every color of the breed, in an almost organized chaos.  The fragrance nearly toppled me over.  Flowers were so over bred in my world that I had nearly forgotten the sweetness of their scent.

 

Beyond the lines of flowers, knights and soldiers stood at attention, separating the citizens of Britannia from the procession.  My eyes were filled with sights and ears with sounds that I had nearly become overwhelmed.  To the right of me, I felt a hand rest on my elbow.  The crowds murmur quieted, and I turned to look at my king.

 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone quite so perfect, draconic traits and all.  With her back straightened, she was easily the same height as the Lancer variants of Artoria but far more lean and muscular.  Her wild blonde hair had been tamed, and pulled back into a ponytail by a black silk ribbon.  The black brought together her face, from the boned horns at her jaw to the ones growing out of her temples.  Her padded cotehardie continued the trend of black, with a striking splash of red that made my heart wrench.  She looked, at the time, as much Mordred as Arthur.

 

And she smiled at me, with those lips I scarred.  I loved her so completely that the bittersweet taste in my mouth made me sick.

 

With all the purpose and elegance of a king, she walked me to the front of the church where the priest awaited us.  I had been recited what the priest would say nearly a thousand times before this point.  Every single word that formed the western ideal of marriage.  Even still, I felt faint as I stood, waiting eagerly to recite the vows fed to me.  I was thankful Arthur was far more capable in these situations, as I found myself leaning on her slightly for support.

 

When the time came, we turned to each other to speak our vows.  I said the words I needed, and yet I could scarcely remember what they were.  Staring into Arthur’s golden eyes, I was under a spell.  I wanted nothing more than to abandon any mission I had, any promise I had made to my allies in Chaldea.  She kissed me tenderly, sliding a ring onto my hand.

 

“My queen,” Arthur sighed dreamily, and it was beautiful because I truly was her queen.

 

For as many hours as the celebration that followed was, that was another thing I could hardly remember.  There was lots of eating and a little drinking.  A few ambitious minded lords handed over wedding gifts.  Horses, gold finery - things that would ingratiate themselves with the king and queen.  I couldn’t tell if Arthur could focus either, but I doubted it.  Her fingers stayed laced with mine the whole time.

 

It was a funny thing to return to our room and have it truly be our room.  There was a different air to it, something that was not there before.  As much as both of us liked to have sex, I was rather surprised when we stopped each other.  I knew the charade had gone on long enough, and had to tell the full truth.  However, Arthur beat me to the punch.

 

“I want to give you something,” she said, after pinning me to the bed with kisses.  Leaving me on my back, she stood up and scurried off to her war chest.  I watched her from the bed, and slowly sat up as she pulled an object wrapped in cloth out.  Arthur returned to me, setting it onto my lap.

 

The weight was immense, and that piqued my curiosity.  However, I endeavored to be patient.  Something that Arthur clearly appreciated as she hesitated a few times before unwrapping it.  On my lap was Clarent, damaged but complete.

 

“A dowry of sorts,” she said, red faced.  “Dear rose, I - I am not what you think.”

 

I looked at her black and red cotehardie and to her face.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her yet that I knew, and I took her cheeks into my hands.  Her skin was hot to the touch, and she leaned into my touch.

 

“I am not the king, merely his - her - bastard.” Arthur closed her eyes, attempting to hold back tears.  “It was I, the Knight of Treachery, who slew the king with this very sword.  In the very moment, I realized there was no ring in hell that could fill me with greater shame than in that moment.  That Rebel Knight could never be king, but I had killed that king.  I have lived a lie.  Loved you under a lie.”

 

Tears had fallen from her closed eyes and I lifted her head up enough so that I could kiss them away.  “Mordred,” I whispered, so quiet that even a pin dropping would drown the noise.  My king opened her eyes, first in shock then something else.  A wordless expression.  I kissed her lips.  “Mordred.”  I repeated her name, a little louder, and I felt her body tremble.

 

“I despise hearing that name,” she said against my lips, “I have hated that knight for so long.”

 

But I knew she wasn’t honest.  I kissed her again.  “I love you, Mordred.” This time my Mordred kissed me back, wrapping her arms around me and pushing me against the bed once more.  Like a dam had broken through and neither of us could stop it.  In precious tears, she sucked on my tongue and whimpered against my mouth.

 

“Your kindness continues to undo me,” she sighed, resting her body above me and I wrapped my arms around her.

 

“Then you must be fair, my Mordred,” I said chewing on my tongue.  “I fear my truth might be far worse than yours.”

 

As patient and fair as a king or knight, Mordred listened to my whole tale.  Not just the mission here, but of Chaldea and the Holy Grail Wars.  Restoring Humanity, and the singularities.  I hesitated, then, explaining how Merlin took me there.  How he had set me up to be his successor, to place me into Mordred’s realm of trust so that when the time came, I did not need to siege to defeat her.

 

That I was sent here to kill her, so I could go home and to restore the lostbelt.

 

For a time she was silent, and I wondered what she was going to say.  Then slowly, Mordred began to kiss me again.  “I cannot tell if you’re a terrible assassin or a superb one, fox,” she said almost playfully, licking at my lips.  I turned my head away stubbornly, and she nosed the crook of my neck.

 

“As far as I’m concerned, you gave me this life.” Mordred said, “you have a right to it.”

 

I felt my heart break.  How could I not love her when she was so goddamn sincere?  Slowly, my stinging eyes turned into quiet sobs as she held me against the bed.  It wasn’t fair, I wanted to cry out.  That I had to do something so heartless wasn’t fair.  That Mordred had to suffer, that I - Mordred’s hand wiped away my tears.  Her rough fingers were terribly gentle.

 

Her hand was replaced with her lips, kissing at my cheeks as I wept.  “You know,” Mordred said as she kissed me.  “I did not realize I could love you more.  Not even after you called my name with such love, but I am overwhelmed.”  Her lips trailed downwards, pecking at the sensitive spots on my neck.  I found my focus on sadness waver.  “That you are not his daughter, you have made that every pang in my heart was mine.”

 

Mordred’s hands hitched my skirt up to my hips.  “ ** **I****  had loved you from the start.”

 

I had considered that kind of insecurity before, but the resolution in Mordred’s voice made my heart pound.  The pain in my eyes faded as heat pooled in my cheeks and between my legs.  Her body nestled at my center, lightly rolling her hips against mine as she nipped at my chest.  Without any particular force or focus, I realized that she was waiting for me to answer her request.

 

My answer was unlacing the front of my dress’s bodice, balling the hem of the skirt up to pull it upwards.  Mordred understood, wordlessly, and assisted in undressing me.  Far more careful this time than the last, so that at least my wedding dress escaped in one piece.  In moments, I was naked beneath her and clawing at her clothed back as she thrust her body against mine.

 

If I looked, I could see the spot against her cotehardie that had been grinding against me, visibly wet with my fluids.  I dragged my nails down her front, and moaned in satisfaction.  The friction of the fabric combined with Mordred’s carefully controlled thrusts was enough to make me want to come.  Stifling a gasp, I grasped at the front of her clothes and unbuckled her clumsily.

 

Mordred stopped for a moment, smirking at me faintly as my sloppy hands did their work.  Only once I couldn’t tear off her trousers did she give in and finish the job for me.  Rolling her muscular shoulders as she tore off her top, and taking precious time to step out of her trousers, I could see the flare of the rebel knight that she had tried so hard to hide.  I devoured every inch of her with my eyes as if it were the first time I had seen it.

 

Hooking her legs around one of my thighs, Mordred leaned over me and I ran my hands along her rippled sides.  I focused on the gnarled scar tissue from where Rhonmyrgirad had failed to kill her, as I rubbed, I felt her sigh.  This scar in particular, I knew, she didn’t like.  Too close to the truth, but we shared that truth now.  I felt her wet pussy brush against me as she drew my other leg towards her chest.

 

“Ritsuka,” she breathed, and her hips moved.  The moment she brought out cunts together, I felt like I was seeing stars.  Our come mixed, and as she ground hard into my lips, we were joined.  Fiercely sensitive from her earlier attentions, I tossed my head backwards in euphoria.  Filling the room was the sound of our sex.  Hot focused panting and moaning and the lewd noise of our wet flesh.

 

In between breaths, Mordred leaned her lips to the leg she held against her.  Finding the softest portion of my skin, she bit into me as she often did.  I hissed, feeling my skin break into her teeth, and felt each pang of pain shoot directly between my legs.  As she sucked on the wound, I could no longer hold back and came noisily against her thrusts.  As if incensed by my climax, Mordred bucked quicker against me, not allowing me a moments peace in my sensitivity.

 

My gasps turned to shouts, dizzied from Mordred’s relentlessness.  Color flooded my vision and I was unsure if I was in pleasure or going mad.  Finally, though, I could hear her gruff and huff.  I tried to focus on her head, ducked down, as she exhaled in orgasm.

 

After lowering my leg, Mordred nearly collapsed on top of me.  She slowly wrapped her arms around my body and I took a mouthful of her shoulder and bit down.  It wasn’t quite as easy for me to break the skin as her, but I got there.  Mordred groaned quietly, and huffed in pleasure.  “I love you,” I said, withdrawing my mouth, savoring the taste of my husband’s blood on my lips.

 

Turning her head, Mordred kissed me and inside of our mouths, our blood mixed.  “I love you too.”

 

I viewed court for the first time seated.  Beside Mordred, whose hand rested on top of mine, things seemed completely different than before.  Even though I felt as though I had no more authority than I had ever had, there was a sense of power in seeing everyone stand but me.

 

In the weeks that followed, Sir Percival and Sir Galahad left our court with a small collection of knights.  They were called to quest for the Holy Grail, an artifact that foretold by Elaine of Corbenic.  Even knowing what I knew about the nature of the Grail, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop them from their quest.  It was in their very nature to search for it, and when they left, I found the castle very lonely.

 

Even with Mordred’s undisguised affection, which I treasured, there was a empty space for Galahad’s approachable aloofness.  But I wondered if he knew that and thought that both of us needed to stop using him as a crutch.  From the way that Mordred reacted when they left, I had to wonder what amount of talking up Galahad had to do to her.

 

When I awoke that morning, the first of my three command seals had flooded red.

 

I stared at it as Mordred slept against my back and was reminded that it had been nearly a year.  Merlin had said something to the effect that it would take that long.  I moved my hand downwards, and sank my fingers between Mordred’s.  I knew that eventually they would start to appear, but it still hurt.  Being aware of the end was difficult, and I wanted to feel like I was in control.

 

I couldn’t stop what was to come, but I wanted to free both of us of regrets.

 

She rubbed her thumb on the top of my hand when she saw it, but didn’t say a thing.  Just leaned forward and pecked precious kisses to the top of my head.  We didn’t really talk about the end since our wedding night, but it was something that lingered in both of our minds.  Mordred had made her intentions clear on the subject, and I chose to respect them.

 

“I want to let her out,” I said during our lunch.  Mordred lowered her spoon with a quiet click on the dinnerware.

 

I never, not even for a moment, feared a spike of anger, but my king had settled into a dark silence.  There was only one person I could be talking about in this situation.  Mordred’s jaw tensed and I could see her arguments line in her head.  It would’ve been easy to forget that she was there.

 

“She,” Mordred began and paused, “what if she has a way to control me?”

 

I thought about her threats and jeers.  Her promise to make Mordred kill me.  Her vitriol and violence.  My neck ached thinking about it.  A part of me was nervous, but I refused to let either of us feel that regret.  “You are not her Mordred,” I said softly, so softly that if a member of the staff was listening they would not be able to hear that forbidden name.  “Nor are you an imitation or a failure.  You are the king.”

 

It was the first time I had seen Mordred and Morgan in the same room.  By Morgan’s omission, they had met before, but it was well before I had arrived in Camelot.  To the back of the workshop, Mordred at the fringes.  Her expression narrow but guarded.  I stood between her and Morgan, not so close that she could reach me again, but enough to feel like a barrier to Mordred.

 

The energy in the room was chaotic, crackling.  “There’s my son,” Morgan purred, and falsely attempted sweetness.  “Come to mother, Mordred.”

 

Mordred didn’t budge, and neither did I.  Morgan couldn’t catch her so long as I stood in between, that’s what I believed.  The silence didn’t please the witch, and she closed in on the bars.  Mana popped and crackled at her presence, but she didn’t seem to notice it burning holes in her veil.  

 

“Did you not hear me, child?” she asked, this time not so sweetly.  As a small flame licked at the veil, she ripped it from her face in anger.  “Let me out, Mordred, and I will forgive you for your insolence.  I did not give birth to you for you to disrepect me like this.”

 

After what felt like an eternity, Mordred approached my back.  Almost timidly, she remained behind me even if her head and shoulders were above me.  “We are releasing you, mother.” Her voice had no energy, but it was determined.  “But you must leave Britannia.”

 

Subtly, her hand closed along the back of my cloak.  Like a life line.  Even a perfect king had fears.  I had to wonder how Morgan raised Mordred to elicit such a reaction.  I saw her face visibly twitch.  “We,” she repeated pointedly.  Her gaze leveled at me, and I knew that it was my duty now to be strong for my king.  “Think you have authority over me just because you’re fucking my son now?”

 

The hand at my back trembled slightly.  “I think I have authority over you because I am the queen,” I said finally, keeping my voice quiet and steady.  Morgan’s lips curled into a scowl.  “Your lands have been seized by the true king of Britannia, and your title forfeit.”  I had practiced this speech in my head a hundred times, and with a gesture with my left hand, flashing my wedding ring, I continued.  “By the grace of our lord, we will release you.”

 

Morgan bared her teeth at me.  In that moment, I could see the similarity between mother and child.  I thought of the first time I invoked Mordred’s ire, when she pinned me against the railing, and snarled at me as a dragon would.  Morgan was no dragon, but she could make one cower.  I, however, had seen far more terrifying sights.  “How do you intend to stop me once I’m out?  You think you can keep your ‘husband’ from coming back to mother?”

 

“That’s enough, mother,” Mordred said, softly but firmly.  Her grip on me had eased.  She passed me, and her hand hissed on the seal to Morgan’s cage.  It took a small amount of force before it broke in her palm.  The ripple of mana faded, the cage had broken.  “It’s enough.  Father is dead.”

 

Her fingernails lashed out against the front of Mordred’s armor and the faint cracks of magic lashed out the front of her body.  I twitched, and lurched forward but I stopped.  Morgan’s wrist was in Mordred’s palm, and slowly, she wrenched her arm to her side.  It looked difficult, controlling how strong she had become to such a delicate task.

 

Mordred, who had grown taller than her mother, looked down on her with murky troubled eyes.  I wondered if Mordred thought that Morgan would have a change of heart, would come to her senses and see the value in her child.  Would see that her anger had been realized, and Artoria had finally been removed from the throne like she wanted.

 

Morgan brought her other hand up and raked her nails across Mordred’s face.  Meticulously honed talons broke open the skin, and nearly gouged at her child’s eye.  However, the king did not move an inch.  She just frowned and that frown broke my heart.

 

What became of Morgan after that, I couldn’t say.  There was a detail sent to escort her to the coast, to relocate her to France.  Reports came in not long after that the entire detail was found dead near the shores.  Even the artifacts that were meant to suppress her magecraft here not enough to stop it completely.  She didn’t make her presence known inside the kingdom, though, and if she planned on it - she had chose to wait too long.

 

As the second seal turned red on my hand, I had no way to hide it.  In bed, Mordred pressed kisses against it.  I fought back tears as she did, but I couldn’t resist them for long.  “You’re borrowing Merlin’s magic, aren’t you?” She asked, running her lips up my arm.  “Would you be able to replicate more of his spells?”

 

I furrowed my brow.  This was the first time Mordred had asked about that.  Wiping my stinging eyes, I tried to think.  “I suppose so,” I answered honestly.  I didn’t know exactly how the process worked, but Merlin had said that it would intuit what I needed.  I sniffled and tilted my head to the side as Mordred kissed my neck.  “What brings this up so suddenly?”

 

I was surprised by an embarrassed pause, and I turned around to face her.  Mordred was not often bashful, as she kept her responses fairly tight, but her face seemed so shy that my heart skipped a beat.  “I,” she began with a quiver in her voice.  “I want to,” she paused again, frustrated, “give you a child.”

 

Oh!  My face went red immediately.  Mordred’s face turned several shades darker.  “I lack the parts needed on my own, but I know father had assistance,” she turned into a mumble.  “Even if __I__  can’t go with you, I want to,” her hand sank and rested on my stomach.  She couldn’t finish, an embarrassed grumble punctuating her statement.

 

Even when I return home, she wanted me to keep a part of her.  After the initial surprise, I had to admit, I wasn’t opposed to it.  Every girl thinks about having kids eventually, for better or worse, and I never disliked the thought.  I was married, even.  Aside from being inconvenient for work in Chaldea, I had no objections.  A little bit of caution was all that was needed to mend the inconvenience.

 

Besides, there was no telling how long it would be before we’d meet again.

 

For the first time since Mordred became king, she canceled all of her daily duties.  No supplications, or executions, or meetings.  On that day, she carried me to the bath from bed and we bathed together first thing in the morning.  From the high windows in the castle, we watched Britain in comfortable silence.  When fast was broken, I retrieved the gnarled staff that Merlin had trusted to me and privately contacted him for his help.

 

“Even if I tell you this,” he said, “you can’t fail your mission.”  A strict Merlin wasn’t any fun to be around.

 

It took preparation.  More preparation than I expected.  Between breakfast and lunch, I had been completely busy.  All the ingredients needed for the alchemical portion of the spell were already in his possession, but needed to be assembled.  A spell had to be drawn on the floor, poultices needed to be drunk.  Then, all there was needed to do was wait.

 

I watched her undress to her waist.  Regardless of what happened below, her upper body stayed the same.  Taut, scarred, but with almost a secretive softness.  Mordred hesitated at her belt, and even though it was her idea, I realized how embarrassing it probably was.  I rested my hands over hers, and urged kisses as our hands unbuckled the front.  Out of shyness, she lowered her trousers first, keeping the magic growth poorly hidden in slightly stained shorts.

 

Her kisses faltered for a second, as if having second thoughts and I pressed my palm against the length of her through the fabric.  Mordred took a sharp breath, and her back went stiff.  Taking that as a sign to continue, I pulled off her undershorts and watched as her temporary dick sprang at attention.

 

Admittedly, I had never seen one up close.  To me, it looked almost alien.  It was thick, veiny, flush, and the tip was hidden by an uncircumcised head.  As I touched it, I felt embarrassed and surprised by how rigid it was.  I knew they called it being hard, but it was a different thing to experience it first hand.  As my fingers slid down her, carefully pulling back the foreskin, I felt her twitch in my palm.

 

Oh, I realized.  This wasn’t like a strap-on or a dildo where no matter how I touched I wouldn’t get a response.  It was real.  Every movement I made was filling Mordred’s threshold and senses.  I glanced at her face before settling onto my knees.  I had never seen one before, but looking at it up close, I got the feeling it was larger than normal.  I wondered if it was a symptom of making one out of magic, or if male Pendragon’s would be so well endowed.

 

The first thing I noticed was her scent.  Mordred’s cock had a different smell than her pussy.  It was muskier, even a little salty.  Tentatively, I ran my tongue along the length of her shaft.  I could taste her sweat, and a little of something else.  With a tremble, Mordred sighed and I noticed that she somehow got stiffer.  Feeling a little bolder, I glanced up at her as I took the head into my mouth.  Her face went stark red, and as I sucked lightly, I could taste her dribble of precum.

 

“Ritsuka,” Mordred moaned as I stroked the base of her shaft.  With a little bit of force, I urged my king to the edge of the bed.  I removed my mouth from her with a pop and pushed her into a seated position.  With her legs spread apart, I had full access again.  I heard her take a sharp breath as I pressed my lips to the base of her shaft, pressing light kisses between playful licks.  I flashed my eyes upwards seeing Mordred’s fist at her lips, sinking her teeth in to stifle any noises.

 

I trailed back upwards slowly, and I sank my teeth gently onto her blushed foreskin.  Even through her fist, I heard her moan helplessly.  I rewarded her with taking her cock back into my mouth, bobbing my head as I struggled to take on her girth.  I could feel the sides of my mouth strain, even as I reached only halfway down, and I gagged slightly as the head grew closer to the back of my throat.  Mordred groaned loudly, and not just her cock but her whole hips twitched.

 

“Careful, big boy, you might choke me to death,” I teased, my throat already a little raw.  I wiped my saliva from my chin and watched Mordred blush.  I ran my hand down my thigh, finding myself plenty wet already.  This time as I swallowed Mordred’s cock down, I plunged my fingers into my pussy.  Two slid in more than easily, but as my mouth strained on her dick, I knew two wouldn’t be enough preparation.

 

Mordred began to whimper as I managed my pinky finger inside of me.  “I’m sorry,” she hissed, crumpling over me.  I sucked fiercely on the tip, huffing as I pumped my fingers in and out of me.  “I-I c - ” She growled her hips trembling.  Her response could only mean one thing, and I tried my best to take as much of her as I could.  Her groans turned to sighs of relief as I felt the first burst of come paint the back of my throat.

 

In my head, I was pretty sure normally it ended after a couple of spurts.  I nearly gagged trying to swallow every thick rope of come as she shot it into me.  Before it ended up coming out of my nose, I freed my mouth from her and the final pumps splattered against my chin and breasts.  Swallowing the remainder in my mouth, I coughed.  I gasped, feeling how raw my throat had become over a short time.

 

“Oh,” Mordred shifted, finding a wash cloth and wiped my face.  As she did I crawled into her lap, kissing her.  For a second I thought she’d be unhappy since I just had a mouthful of her come, but Mordred opened her mouth and let me press my tongue in.  I drew my hips close to her, and I ground my lips against her.

 

I gave a muffled noise of surprise.  Even after emptying what felt like a gallon of spunk down my throat, her cock was still as rock hard as before.  Her head slid against my clit and I shuddered.  Wrapping my arms around Mordred’s shoulders, I pulled away from our kiss.  “I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re ready to go again,” I wriggled my hips, making sure every inch of my pussy ground against her.

 

With a sharp breath, Mordred nodded.  “It hasn’t gone down at all,” she affirmed.  “Maybe it’s the magic.  You’re,” I pushed her against the bed and rose up on my knees.  I guided her cock along my slit.  “Going to put it in?”

 

I hummed in response and slowly began to sink down on her.  Even after four fingers inside me, I felt myself stretching considerably after just the head.  I stopped, waited, and continued several times until I finally was able to sit flush on her hips.  It definitely hurt a little bit.  The size spread me apart, but it kept me stuffed like a plug.  I shuddered, slightly, thinking how overstuffed I’ll be when she explodes.

 

Leaning forward, I began to rock.  Just a little bit, not even all the way to the tip.  Up and down until I found myself panting.  Just deep enough to hit the right places, but not hard enough to drive me wild.  Something I would need to remedy, I lifted my hips higher and drove myself down with force.  Mordred’s entire body jerked, and I let out a moan of satisfaction.

 

I watched Mordred’s head loll against the bed as I none too gently rode her.  Between my own moans and the clapping of our hips as I beat down on her nearly drowned out her unfocused groans.  She blinked, trying to refocus her rolled eyes, but every time I made sure to sink myself down, devouring her cock fully into my almost too small pussy.

 

The torture was apparently too much, and in an instant, she had tossed me off of her lap and onto my stomach.  I attempted to rise up from the bed, but she sank her weight over me from behind.  Her hands sank into the insides of my thighs and spread them apart and I felt her breath on my back.  “You have a moment to protect your hips,” Mordred said, her voice strained, and I gulped.  “I will be incapable of restraining myself soon.”

 

There was one thing I learned about my king, it was that she didn’t have the patience to lie to me.  If she said she was going to smash my pussy so hard my hips would break, I better be prepared to protect myself.  I floundered my hands at my hips, trying to find the best and quickest way to reinforce the bones there and surrounding.  Mana surged through my circuits and I felt somewhat more rigid.  Hopefully it would be enough until Mordred came.

 

With a tense sigh, the king pressed kisses along my back as she ran the head of her cock against my slit.  Even if this was the first time we had done it quite like this, my body was already trembling with anticipation.  Not the plunge of her dick inside me, but the more important piece.  Her mouth parted and she burrowed her teeth into my skin.  It was as if I were trained like a beast, awaiting my mate’s bite to make me theirs.

 

In the pleasurable waves of pain, she took no time to bury herself in me to the hilt.  I was seeing stars.  It was too much for me all at once, and I noisily came against the pillows.  Each wave of pleasure surged in me, squeezing down on Mordred’s prick with no sense of relief.  Her teeth didn’t leave me, and I knew that she wasn’t going to wait for me to recover from my orgasm.

 

Drawing backwards, she pounded into me with enough force to rattle the bed.  My body groaned in response, confused and aroused by the fact that it did not break from her thrust.  Inside of me, I could feel my flesh grow weak and hyper sensitive.  I knew, without a doubt, that I was in quite a bit of danger.  Mordred withdrew her mouth from me and held me at my hips.

 

Simply describing getting my brains fucked out by Mordred would not do it justice.  She always had a way of leaving me in disbelief after sex.  Being fucked into the bed by this magic cod was hardly the best sex she’d ever given me, but it was certainly the most unique.  Never before had her thrusts actually broken the bed beneath me, snapping the frame with its force.

 

I gasped, nearly falling through only to be picked up and pushed closer to the headboard.  “Mordred,” I slurred, having lost my ability to speak too clearly after my third orgasm.  I had lost count after the fifth.  My hands meekly grabbed at the headboard for dear life.  

 

As I gave a trembling sigh, her lips touched my back again.  Each time, she had bitten and claimed me again in a new space, and was determined to do it again.  Undoubtedly, I must have looked like I got mauled by dogs.  Broken skin and blood on bruised skin.  I welcomed the intrusion of her teeth again, my brain hardly processing the pain of it anymore.

 

Her thrusting stopped, and Mordred held me flush against her chest.  Delirious, I didn’t make the connection right away until I felt it.  My hands fell between my legs, holding at the point where our bodies connected, as Mordred’s orgasm began to fill me.  No doubt the first spurt slapped against the walls of my womb, but it wasn’t about to end there.  She came in thick heavy sprays, pooling inside of me until I swore I saw a bump form.

 

It felt like her climax took minutes, and I wheezed as she withdrew her piece from me for the last time.  I could feel the gratuitous amount of come spill from my pussy as if uncorked.  I had to admit, there was no way that wasn’t going to get me pregnant.  No wonder Merlin was proud of this little fertility spell.

 

As the magic faded from my bones, so too did the spell end on my king.  I didn’t watch it, but Mordred said that it simply went flaccid, shrank and fell off.  It didn’t hurt, even, just did its job and disappeared.  Something we laughed about, in a morbid way, in our broken bed for the night.

 

It was good to laugh at things, after all.  What we had was not meant to last forever.

 

[...]

 

A week after I missed my period, I woke up to my third command seal.  The line of communication to Chaldea would undoubtedly open soon enough.  Beneath Merlin’s workshop, there was a leyline.  But, honestly, I didn’t feel like talking to them.  Mordred canceled all of her duties for the last time.

 

Time was of the essence, I know, but I didn’t rush.  I didn’t have the heart to.

 

My fingers sank against my stomach as Mordred drew me a cool bath.  Summer was ending soon, but it was still hot.  Hotter than it usually was.  Maybe that was my nerves, both of our nerves.  Sinking into the water behind me, I closed my eyes in my king’s embrace.  I had cried my eyes out over the second seal, but there was a terrible cold acceptance in the third.

 

I wanted to be more miserable than I was, but I was consumed by a numbness.  In the cool water, we didn’t say anything.  She just kissed at my cheeks as lied against her chest.  There was an entire kingdom that needed its king.  Autumn would soon be upon them, and there were no doubt lords and ministers that needed governance.  I nearly laughed at myself for thinking about that.

 

What did it matter?  It was going to be gone by the end of the day.

 

Inside I felt cold.  Mordred’s fingers ran across the surface of my stomach, and it felt just slightly warmer where she touched.  “Melehan.”  She said softly, breaking the long silence of our bath.  “I’d like it if you named our child Melehan.”  Her fingers joined together to rub small circles.  “I - I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

 

My heart strained, and it felt like a wound at the center of my numbness.  “Mordred,” I began, my voice tight.  I wanted to tell her not to sound so desperate.  Not to hope so highly.  There were no guarantees that someone from a Lostbelt would arrive in the Throne of Heroes.  Instead I swallowed the tightness in my throat.  “Melehan, huh?  Daddy picked out a name for you already.”  I felt my eyes prickle, despite how empty I was feeling.

 

“Ritsuka, my rose,” Mordred nuzzled her nose against my neck, and I felt her horns cut into me slightly.  “My fox, my queen.  Let me swear to you.” Her voice dropped so quiet that if I moved the water, I wouldn’t hear her.  “I am not Arthur.  I will not make the same mistakes she did.”  Her hand pressed gently on my stomach.  “I will be a good husband, and a good father.  I will find you again.”

 

I wanted to fight and to shout and argue.  It wasn’t fair of her to say such things.  It wasn’t fair to love me so strongly when we both knew how the day was going to end.  I wondered when I got water in my eyes, because I couldn’t see.  I could barely breathe, because something kept forcing me to sob.  Even if I knew what I had to do, it didn’t make it easy for me.

 

Mordred carried me out of the bath in her arms.  Holding me like a blushing bride, she sank me down into the cushions of our new unbroken bed.  The windows in our room were wide open, carrying a cool summer breeze on our naked wet bodies.  I cried, hopelessly, in to her arms while the beautiful summer sun warmed the British soil.

 

“It won’t be for long,” Mordred assured me, and her voice was so quiet and calm I thought she really believed that.  As if she could promise me something so uncertain.  But when I looked at her cool gold eyes, I really did believe her.  “I will return for you and Melehan.” Her hands clasped on my cheeks and kissed me.  “King or not, I am a knight.  Knights do not lie.”

 

My personal knight in shining armor.  The king of my heart.  My Mordred who strove to be perfect when she was not.  I kissed her, running my hands down her back.

 

“You’re,” I smiled through my tears, “so strong.”

 

She smiled back, warm and soft.  We lied together there, naked and damp, for what felt like hours.  Her hands found mine, lacing her fingers together, and we talked.  What kind of child we wanted our Melehan to be.  What kind of life we would live in Chaldea, where we wouldn’t be bound by the life of a king.  Mordred didn’t rush me to speak, and I thanked her for it.

 

I knew when the sun began to set that we had run short on time.  Slowly, and quietly, we redressed.  I couldn’t tell you the reason we did, but maybe we just wanted to do so in clothes.  I didn’t bother putting all of Merlin’s get up on, and she only put on trousers.  I took my dowry in my hands.  Clarent was almost so heavy that I couldn’t lift it.

 

With significant effort, I drew it from its sheathe.  The silvery blade was as beautiful now as I had seen it first wielded in Chaldea by the original Mordred.  My fingers ran along the edge, and the red inlays.  I don’t know if it needed to be Clarent, or if it mattered at all.  But it felt right.  I turned around, and saw Mordred waiting patiently for me at the edge of our bed.

 

“You’ve never done this before,” she said with a quiet determination.  There were a lot of things about this that I had never done, but I doubt she wanted to here that.  She raised her hand, beckoning me, “come here.”

 

I did as instructed, and she took the tip of Clarent and guided it against her chest.  “Here, it’s the easiest passage.  It’ll take a lot of effort,” Mordred said, speaking so casually as if she were not talking about herself.  My hands trembled and Clarent shook slightly.  Keeping one hand on the edge of the sword, she moved the other to mine at the hilt.  “Shh, it’s alright.  I’ll help.”

 

“Mordred, I love you,” I said, my voice nearly giving out.

My Mordred smiled at me, and squeezed my hand.  “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet Ritsuka.”

 

She began for me, squeezing her hand on the edge of Clarent until it bled and forcing the tip against her.  As sword began to pierce her chest, I pushed with as much body strength as I could muster.  I flinched but she didn’t.  Mordred stared at me, with an airy expression.  It must have hurt, I thought, but her cheeks only twitched slightly as Clarent’s wide head cut through her chest.

 

Where I expected blood, a familiar gold light began to flow.  My eyes burned.

 

“You,” I hiccuped, not realizing how hard I had been crying.  “You had better find me soon.  Melehan needs a father.”

 

I let go of Clarent and tried to reach out for Mordred.  Her form had already begun to fade, but she lifted her hand up to my cheek.  I wondered if she tried to say something, because it looked like her lips were moving.  I took a step forward, to try and capture the sparkles of light that made her body, but my foot collided with nothing.

 

As quick as I had fallen into Camelot, I fell out of it.

 

[ . . .a single selfish wish ]

I woke with a start, as if I fell back into my own body.  I must have.  The sirens blared in my ears, and Mash barged through my doorway dressed in full armor.  My brow furrowed and I felt dizzy.  The alarms shut off suddenly, and I was hit suddenly with a headache so fierce that I nearly vomited immediately.

“What?” Mash breathed.  “A false alarm?  Senpai, are you alright?”

I crumpled into my lap, and nodded.  “I’m fine.  Have I been in bed this entire time?” I asked into my blankets.  As far as I could tell, nothing was different.  I didn’t feel any older than when I first was brought to Camelot.  I winced, “false alarm?  But I was in a lostbelt?”

The room took an uncomfortable air.  “Senpai, are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?  You just woke up.”

Frustrated, I went to grab my calendar to make an argument and stopped.

“Should I see if Nightingale or Medea Lily can spare some time for you, Senpai?”

I flinched.  “No,” I looked away from the date, realizing that no time had passed.  “No, it’s fine.  I’m - just tired.”

I touched my shoulder to find no scar from Mordred’s teeth and dropped my hand to my stomach.  I wondered, faintly, if there were any pregnancy tests in the base.


	7. Chapter 7

Pulse.  Pulse.  Pulse.

I can feel it inside of me.  Beating like a drum.  Each faint throb sapped the strength from my arms.  Each beat of my heart sinks down, down, down.  Like someone had poked a hole in me, and I was leaking into an endless void.  I tried to cup at the hole, just below my belly button, trying to catch what part of me spilled out.  I splash between my fingers, and I lose the strength in my legs.  My eyes refocus on the spot, and I see it.

Poking its snout out from my body, like a grotesque horror flick.  Rosy gold scales surround a toothed maw.  It opens its mouth in a mewling roar, tearing my skin apart as it does.  I have fallen on my back, watching as the beasts shape distorts my stomach, and its claws attempt to try and free itself.  Its heartbeat drums in tune with mine, and I feel no pain as it shreds my skin, trying to escape a far too tight jail cell.

It’s head bursts free from me, and I see the dragon’s head.  Nubby black horns, and rosy scales, its eyes open and look at me.  I know its name.  But as I blink, it disappears.  No trace of its violent exit remains, but the pounding pulse in my ears.

Beat.  Beat.  Beat.

I know it’s devouring me.  I am not Morgan.  I am not Igraine.  I was not born a queen or a magic being.  I was not made for this.  It cannot stop eating.  Even now, as small as it is, it consumes.  Every circuit in my body screams, and even though it is not clawing its way from my body, I am writhing in pain.  It must eat.  It will eat.  I can feel its heartbeat already, like a threat.

Thud.  Thud.  Thud.

I can feel her hands on me.  Around me.  Her breathing soft against my ear.  If I lose focus on my eyes, its easier.   _ _Mordred - you’ll come home, won’t you?__   I’ve become so impatient in waiting.  Her arms made the pain ebb away.  All three of us, our hearts begin to pound in time.  Even if it eats, even if Melehan eats.  It will be fine.  In my Mordred’s arms, we are whole.  I know I am dreaming.

[ . . . ]

 

It should be fairly natural to sleep alone in a bed.  It’s something most people begin doing at a young age.  I remember when my family moved to a bigger apartment, and I got to have a room by myself.  At the time, I was excited because I had my futon rolled out with my siblings.  Privacy was nice, I thought.  Now, I felt like I couldn’t stay asleep the whole night.  Even though my bed wasn’t very large, I felt like there was something uncomfortable about how cold it was with just me in it.

In Chaldea, the year or so I spent in Camelot was less than an entire evening.  As soon as I slipped into Merlin’s ray shift I was brought back.  Among the many things that trouble me, it’s the questioning expressions I get around the compound.  Mentally, I was out of habit.  I no longer had the muscle memory of the building.  My internal clock was off, and my sleeping habits were out of sorts.

It’s not like they don’t believe me.  A lot of things can happen.  Mash apologized, and touched my back as I related my story to her.  She said many of the same things she is known for saying.  “You’re so kind, senpai,” her expression is soft, even a little envious.  I felt cruel because I knew how she felt.  She didn’t need to hear about my love affair, but I needed to tell someone.

I wouldn’t have called it a kindness.  Not with the way it ended, but I had to wonder if I was being biased.  So long as Chaldea was empty, I would be fine, but when it was full I wasn’t.  It seemed like ghosts wanted to follow me everywhere.  Even just looking at the other Knights of the Round, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.  Mash was an exception, but that was perhaps because she was far softer than Galahad had been.

I couldn’t come face to face with them though.  Artoria, and her variants.  Mordred.  The one that died at Camlann.  The weight of it was too much.  Her smiling face was brazen and arrogant, and so different from the Mordred that I had married, but it was still so close that it hurt.  That she shared her face with Artoria made it hard to look at them.

Standing at the summoning system, I was met with nothing.  The crackle of energy produced nothing, not even a Servant I wasn’t calling.  Like the FATE system didn’t want to work for me.  Da Vinci said it might be a malfunction, politely, but we know that it was working just fine.  No one wanted to come to me.  I knew it wouldn’t be immediate, but it still stung.

It stung because I was uncertain.

I sank down to my knees and leaned against the edge of the platform.  The cool metal plates felt almost like an ice pack against the gaping wound in my chest.  If I closed my eyes, I could hear the soft whirring of the mechanical parts and I felt almost a hatred for it.  Never before had I felt such a bitter petty anger - but as I lied there in silence all I could think about was hate.

As days folded into weeks with no change, that bitter pill only grew blacker.  Despite a few objections, I continued to go on missions.  There were still concerns with stressing your body during your first trimester, but an angry part of myself didn’t care about that.  My child was already devouring me from the inside out.  Without having gained proper shape, it took what little mana in my body in gulps.

My knees would shake, and sometimes, I would lose footing.  I would fall and lie on my back, coated in a heavy sweat, and be furious.  It won’t be long, she said.  But I was impatient.  I was terribly lonely.  As I tried to catch my breath, the air like fire in my lungs, my Servants paid extra attention to try and avoid the subject.  It’s a rough time for senpai, Mash would warn.  Women can be irrational in this state, Cu would explain.

And I laughed at myself a bit.  I was being pretty irrational, wasn’t I?  As much as I cherished this life inside me, I was miserable that I was not the same as before.  How easy it was for someone to change their whole outlook when they fell in love.  I stared at the night sky, and blinked the sweat out of my eyes.  All I could see in the sky was the unending black sprinkled in the gold light of her death.  Best not bother with a woman who’s carrying, David said sagely.

At the end of every mission, I would drag myself to the summoning platform and lie on its edge.  Lit and whirring, but completely silent otherwise.  It had been quiet for weeks, a new record it seemed.  Like the whole system itself was rejecting me.  Dirty as I was, I shrugged a blanket over my shoulders and leaned my head against the metal.  Maybe, I thought, I would sleep here again tonight.  As my eyes slip shut, I focused on the drumming of my heart instead.  I knew I couldn’t do this forever.  I can’t be so irresponsible.

As I crept closer to the edge of sleep, the murmur of voices hold me at the edge and I hear the hiss of the door.  I hear Mash first, speaking in a pleading tone.  I wondered, briefly, if she was talking to me but instead I felt my stomach turn.  When I heard her speak, tears flooded into my eyes and I thought for a moment that a miracle had happened while I was half asleep.

“Shut up, I don’t care,” It wasn’t her speech pattern, I know, but for a moment I wanted to believe.  “Oi, Master.  Get up, this is getting out of control.”

I had tried avoiding her as best I could, but my selfish habits must have finally upset her.  I tried to wipe my eyes before I responded but there were too many tears to stop.  In my blurry vision, I saw Mordred pushing Mash away at an arms distance.  Not mine, but so close.  Wild hair and broad shoulders, the hand she had free shot and pulled me to my feet.

And in that very moment, I was on the battlefield again with my king.

I was weak, and reveled in the fact that her scent was so similar.  When I found my feet beneath me, she pinned me down with a cross expression.  Too fiery, too visceral to be my Mordred, but with that face I was so weak.  I felt paralyzed as she grasped my hand firmly, and tugged at me.  Mash said something, asked me a question, but I felt numb.

All I saw was the shape of Mordred’s back, so painfully familiar, as she led me down the hallway.  She didn’t say anything, and I was thankful for it.  Feeling the similar shape of her hand and the familiar scent was too hard.  As the door to my room slid open, I half expected her to finally release my hand.  Instead, Mordred tugged at me as she lead me inside.

“You can let me go,” I said, quietly defiant.  Even if I wasn’t going to tear my hand away from her, she had to know.  Mordred looked at me with an expression that was painfully familiar, even if her eyes were emerald they glimmered the same.

Without answering me, she turned to the doorway that led to an attached bathroom.  “I don’t understand, Master.” She said and tugged me again behind her into the small room.  I didn’t know what to say, so I let her use her free hand to turn on the shower head.  “In one night, you changed so much.  I don’t really get it but it’s my fault.”

I felt my world crack under an immense weight as I realized what was happening.  Mordred delicately let go of my hand and touched the running water in the shower.  “It’s not really,” I choke out to my own surprise.  I didn’t think I was able to say anything, not right this minute.  Mordred furrowed her brow at me.

“I’ll be waiting outside the door.” She said, quietly and walked past me.  The door whirred open, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.  It wasn’t fair.  “You know,” Mordred began, standing outside the bathroom.  Then she stopped and made a face.  One I knew well enough from my own Mordred.  She was hiding something.  “Never mind.”

Under the synthetic light, I was alone again but somehow it hurt worse.  I brought my hands up to the top of my uniform, slowly undoing each buckle and button.  I had to wonder what it felt like for my Mordred that time.  Revealing yourself, raw and broken.  The knight that brought me here wasn’t going to hand bathe me.  She wasn’t even looking at me, but I wondered if it was similar.

I was ashamed of myself.  Folding my clothes and setting them aside, I took a deep breath and walked beneath the shower without testing the temperature.  The shame burned brighter inside me, and I let my tears wash away unnoticed.  It was the perfect temperature.  Slowly, so slowly, I crumpled to the floor and brought my knees against my chest.

I couldn’t do this forever.  So I had to let it out now.  I was never this weak before.

When I stepped out of the shower, I wasn’t a new person.  I wasn’t any better than before.  I wasn’t any less miserable or sad.  But I had accepted that.  I wrapped a towel around my body and opened the door.  True to her word, Mordred sat beside the frame, and waiting at the foot of the door was a folded set of pajamas.

“I had to touch your underwear, sorry,” she said and I could see the redness in her ears.  I knelt down to pick the pile up.  “Everyone here worries about you.”  Mordred tilted her head to the side, catching my eyes.  “You’ll make everyone sad if you act like this.”

Bitter.  I felt a bitter taste fill my mouth past my throat.  How ugly and familiar this was.  I scowled at myself and turned away.  The door shut between us again and I tried not to focus too much.  I leaned my head against the door and tried not to cry again.  I hated it, I hated this.  I was angry, and lonely and I had never been this weak before.

When I reopened the door, Mordred remained in the same place.  I shuffled out, and stared at her for what felt like forever.  Everything was the same, but not really.  She wasn’t mine.  “Thanks, I’ll be heading to bed now.” I said, my voice crackling under the terseness in my throat.

Mordred stared back at me and blushed.  “I’m going to make sure you actually sleep.” she said quietly, scratching the side of her cheek.  My brow furrowed.  “I’ll be here all night.  Don’t worry, I don’t need any lights on.”

I opened my mouth to argue.  To shove her out, to use a Command Seal and push her away.  I slid it shut slowly.  I certainly felt less lonely if she was going to sit in there with me.  It wasn’t the same.  It wasn’t __her__  Mordred, wrapping her up in her arms as we slept.  It was Mordred, the original, sitting on the other side of the room watching her.

But it was enough at that point.  I sank into my bed and switched the light off.  As guilty as it made me, drowsiness hit me immediately. As if a tiny comfort was all I needed to try and reset myself.  I curled my fingers into the pillow and closed my eyes.  Perhaps I wouldn’t dream of nightmares tonight.

I was too far gone to tell the difference between their fingers when she touched my bangs, brushing them out of my face as I turned.  “I’m really jealous, you know.” I thought I heard her say, but my eyes were heavy and I just thought it was nice to hear her voice.

[ … ]

 

And just like that, my life resumed.

There were some differences, of course.  Most notably, the pregnancy had effected my stamina to an abnormal degree.  Even though I hadn’t even finished my first trimester, I found it difficult to stay on my feet all day.  Missions, when I was allowed to partake, had to be short and sweet.  If I went a touch over my boundaries, I was hounded by my array of healer type Servants who would tsk and hum at me for my carelessness.  That was something I could deal with though.  I had expected that.

“Are you tired?” Mordred put a hand to the small of my back, supporting my weight as I got dizzy.  “Damn it, if you’re tired say something.”

I wasn’t prepared for this attack.  She stood beside me with my husbands face and my husbands voice and cooed after me.  She had none of my king’s cool restraint, but they were so similar it hurt.  I flushed with shame as I leaned, unable to convince my legs to maintain my dignity.

“It happens suddenly,” I argued and tried to push her back.  Not like this, I want to say.  Don’t make me suffer like this, I want to believe.  But part of me needed it.  The reassurance, the support.  They were the same person, after all.  Would it really be cheating?  But even that was a lie to myself.

As I looked at her expression, unflinching but clueless, I knew that this person wasn’t the one I fell in love with.  I grimaced as I steadied my footing.  Melehan was proving to be a problem child already.  Merlin had promised to make me something that would help with it, but the materials needed were outside of Chaldea and coveted rare ingredients.

I stopped and sank down until I was sitting.  The Servants ahead of me didn’t notice, continuing on their assigned duties, but I knew it wouldn’t be completely missed.  Mordred lingered at my side.  I wanted to yell or scream or tell her that she wasn’t my husband.  Tell her that she would never replace my Mordred.  Command her to leave me alone because I was tired of being in pain.

Instead I just let her because I was lonely.  I was never this weak before.

“I’m going to rest,” I said as if it weren’t obvious.  I made sure to communicate to the other Servants via my Command seal to move on without me.  Mordred didn’t budge, despite the soft command.  She stood at a distance, her sword sheathed as she looked around.  “Shouldn’t you be helping?”

She tilted her head at me.  “And leave you alone?  Dumbass, you know you’re pregnant, right?”  Mordred said, glaring at me from over her shoulder.  “Things might be easier now with pregnancies and shit, but a boar goring into your stomach isn’t going to be saved by your new medicine.”

I flinched and grimaced.  She was right, of course, but I didn’t want her to be.  It was hurtful to be doted on by that face.  If I lost focus, I could see a scar on her lip and beautiful ebony horns.  I could see her shoulders, slouched just a little bit from exhaustion.  I was angry, I was ashamed of myself.  I wanted that Mordred to be mine so badly that I was letting myself get confused.

“You’re not my husband,” I said softly.  Defiantly.  I couldn’t even look at her face while speaking, knowing I wouldn’t have the strength to do so.  “Just because you could be her, you aren’t my husband.”

Mordred looked at me and I saw an expression that was new.  I was used to seeing this Mordred’s scowl, her look of anger.  I was used to mine trying to swallow it.  This wasn’t that.  It was raw, hurt, betrayed.  Her teeth barely peeked from her lips as she tried to open them to speak.  I had no idea that those words would hurt her so much, but I felt as though I had torn Mordred open again.

“I know that.” She said sharply.  “Don’t you think I know that?”

I didn’t have time to answer before she closed the space between us.  None too gently, she descended to her knees before me and bundled my skirt in her palms.  I couldn’t help but think of all the times my Mordred fell to her knees before me and I winced.  They were, at heart, the same person after all.

“But can’t I love you?” Mordred hissed, looking down at the ground, unable to look at me.  “We’re the same person.  So let me do it.  Let me be that Mordred you love.”

And I realized then that there was a world I had never seen.  Before then, I had never noticed.  Before I fell in love with Mordred, I hadn’t even thought.  How long had she been in love with me?  How long had I been ignoring her, only to fall in love with the wrong her?  How callous was I, this whole time?  How bad of a person was I to continue loving someone else?

For a moment, my fingers hesitate to touch the top of her head.  Guilt, I am swallowed by mouths and mouths of guilt.  I had ignored her.  I had let her love me without stopping her.  I loved someone else.  But I wanted to be loved again.  I wanted to feel that warmth again.  I wanted to be in her arms again, in the warmth of her bed.  I wanted to make love for hours, and bathe together afterwards.

But I wanted that from my Mordred.

“You can’t,” I said quietly.  “You can’t be her.”

My fingers ran through her hair as she trembled.  I pretended not to hear her choke and cry as she knelt before me.  I pretended not to hear her quietly plead with me.  I pretended not to hear her curse my Mordred, hate her, insult her.  She left you here alone.  I dragged my nails across the surface of her head gently, knowing instinctively everywhere that Mordred loved.  Slowly, her shoulders stopped shaking, and her breathing slowed to a calm.

I pretended not to hear her asking if I did this with my husband.  If my Mordred appreciated it as much.  If I could ever fall in love with her the same way.

By the time the other Servants arrived back to me, it was over.  Mordred was at her distance, eyes a little red, and watching over me.  It was as if it never happened.  But it did, and I wondered if I was too cruel.  Mordred looked at me from over her shoulder, and I knew that a part of her had splintered.

[ … ]

 

I was never that weak.  I said that to myself enough times that it became a prayer.  And somewhere, some god answered me.  I had fallen to my lowest point, and I was allowed to stand back up.

It was easier with Merlin’s poultice, which he kept a steady enough supply of with the amount of materials we unearthed.  He said that it would abate my child’s hunger, and reinforce my own body.  I didn’t believe him, at first, since Melehan was so ravenous at their earliest stage.  But even as my second trimester began, my body felt refreshed and energized so long as I maintained the routine of drinking it.

The Summoning System continued to refuse to work for me, but I spent less and less time going back there.  I had other things to do, people to help.  Servants to take care of.  Mordred was right - I had people who were worried about me.  I had a responsibility to them, like my Mordred did to Britain.  So, I couldn’t continue like I was.

Mordred still lingered in my peripheries.  Never so close that she was intruding but never so far that I couldn’t tell she was near.  I knew she leaned against my door at night, listening to see if she could hear me sleep.  I knew how she felt, but she knew how I felt as well.  I could feel weak about that, but I couldn’t.  I was a Master, and I was preparing to be a mother.

I let her worry about me because it did no harm.  After all, I had fallen once before.  If need be, I would let her pick me up.  But I was going to walk ahead on my own.  I was going to choose for myself.  Every night, I took my bitter drink that Merlin prepared and I focused my thoughts on my own warmth.

Somewhere along the way, I had accepted the fact that my Mordred might never return to me.  Maybe it was that fear that kept me from the FATE system.  Uncertainty was starting to look comfortable, homey.  That I was neither right nor wrong about my husband.  That I could accept that her knight’s oath was a hopeful one, not based in reality.

I wanted to be fine with that.  I so desperately wanted to be stronger.  That I could be a person like my Mordred.  Who took the weight of the world upon her shoulder, because she felt like she must.  I, too, would feel that brunt.  This was my life, I was going to live it.  This was my choice, and I - would accept that.  But I was not free from fear.

“You’re alright?” Mash asked, her brow furrowed and expression dark.  She asked this every time we went on a mission, whenever she saw me flash a smile.  Mash knew me too well, I think.  Her delicate face could see right through me.  She was just like Galahad in that regard, and I wanted to laugh at myself in the comparison.

“I’m fine,” I lied, but I was as fine as I would ever be.  I flashed a smile, a well practiced one.  “Being pregnant with a dragon is a lot of work though.”  I laughed off her concern.  I ran my hand over my stomach, the tell tale shape had already begun to form.

I knew I wouldn’t fool her completely.  She knew me on a different level.  Just like Mordred, always a few feet away.  They knew what I was hiding.  What I was keeping to myself.  But neither of them could press it anymore.  I wasn’t weak.  I wasn’t going to let myself be like that.  I wasn’t going to be a coward, or a waif.  I wasn’t a princess waiting for my knight in a tower to rescue me.

I was the Master.  I was the Savior of Mankind.  Even if it hurt, I wouldn’t let this part break me.  I wasn’t at a complete loss, after all.  My fingers traced the bulge of my stomach.  I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t forgotten.  Not completely.  Even if I was fated to be without my Mordred for the rest of my life, I had something else.

I had my Melehan.

It was easy to focus on the active part of my life missing.  It was easy to mourn over it.  But I couldn’t do that.  Not anymore.  Instead, I thought about what was going to come.  A child.  I don’t know how the magic worked, and whether or not I was able to produce a son, but I thought a lot about who my baby would be.  A dragon, of course.  Strong like their father and their grandfather.

Maybe a gentle person, without Mordred’s rowdy streak.  Or maybe just like her, rebellious and loud.  I wondered if my baby would crave a father’s attention that was never there.

“Biologically, everything is in order,” Nightingale reported to me.  Despite her Berserker tendency, I preferred seeing her over the other healers and doctors around.  Maybe it was that she had children in her lifetime, or maybe I was more comfortable with her diagnosis, rooted in fact.  “Your fatigue is normal too.  Husband, you can come back in.”

That was the other reason I liked her, I think.  The door slid open and the Altered Lancer Artoria entered the room.  I don’t know why they kept the charade up after the Journey to the West debacle, but they complimented each other.  Nightingale removed the gloves she wore and replaced them with new ones as the Altered Artoria sat beside me.

“May I touch?” she asked, and when I nodded, she ran her hand over my stomach.  A small smile lit her lips, as if she was feeling something I could not.  “The child feels like a strong warrior.  As expected of my grandchild.”

Sometimes this Artoria did that.  Little things that made a world of difference.  I wondered what my Mordred would’ve been like had this person been her father.  As I stared, I could see all the resemblances.  The onyx horns, the pale gold eyes.  The cool, deep way that they smiled when they were actually happy.  “Is there some way you can tell?”  I asked, trying to crush the sentimental part of my heart.

With a hum, the Altered Artoria closed her eyes.  “The pulse of mana, I suppose.” She withdrew her hand and looked at me for a bit.  “Your child has the heart of a knight, just like her father.” A sob fought to be released from my throat as Artoria continued.  “Mordred was always the perfect knight.  I truly made a mistake.”

Those words lingered in me for days.  Beyond my eyes and into another, I realized, Mordred was the perfect knight.  She might not have been the perfect king, but she had always been the perfect knight.  Knights, she said, do not lie.  As ugly and bitter the pounding in my chest was, I knew that I had been hanging on that hope.

Knights don’t lie.  Mordred said she would return to me.  I had to be patient.

I returned to the summoning platform after what felt like forever.  Even the room smelled faintly of dust, and the only light inside was the rivits of mana beneath the platform.  I extended my hand out, and took a deep breath.  Even if not now, I had to stop being afraid of the outcome.  I had a promise from my knight, my king, so I should be happy with it.

Perhaps the only reason my Mordred did not return was because I was not myself.

I let myself be someone else.  A coward, a weakling, someone with a quiet voice that let others tell her what to do.  Perhaps it was that reason she couldn’t find me.  Perhaps it was something smaller - that the throne was large and the request was small.  Perhaps it was anything, but I knew for a fact that I had only been doubting myself.  Afraid of being left alone, I had made the mistake in rejecting her catalyst this whole time.

With a snarl, the system awoke in a bath of light.  The force of the machine jets sent a gust of air through my hair.  The command seal on my burned furiously bright.  The king had become mine because I chose her.  Because I fought to be at her side, because I chose to love her.  I wasn’t waiting for her to do that for me, I wasn’t waiting for her to fight me and push me away.  I was the the house, and our love was the catalyst.  That love built on trust.

I reached out for that piece.  That belief that would reunite us.  That strength in my bones that sought her out.  Behind me, the door slid open but I couldn’t tell who was there.

I had wanted her back more than I wanted to be the person she loved.  That was far too selfish of me to grasp at.  How can my knight errant find me if I am invisible?  The light formed by the FATE system bloomed and exploded, blinding me for a moment as a heavy mana bathed the entire room.  That was the part I had been missing.

As the light sank down, I saw her again.  My Mordred, with jutting horns and heavy eyelids.  With her blood soaked armor and heavy shoulders.  With that beautiful scar torn through her lip.  I lowered my hand, and she blinked the light out of her eyes as she staggered towards me slowly.  Slowly, slowly, until she had nearly been crawling on her knees as she approached me.

“My rose,” she breathed, and even though her eyes were bleary and confused, she smiled.  Wrapping her arms around my hips, she pressed her cheek against my stomach.  “Dear Melehan.”

It was a weird feeling, and I almost felt like it was a dream.  Reaching out, I ran my fingers through her hair.  I had been waiting, I wanted to say.  “Welcome home.” I said softly.

My beloved husband looked up at me with the clearest eyes.  I was aware of her class, of her nature, but in that sweet moment - she was my original king.  Drawing up from her knees, she cupped my cheeks in her hands and kissed me.  I had longed, I had longed.  Her tongue parted my lips and I was completely at peace with myself.

I whimpered slightly, burying my nails into the front of the stained armor.  After so many months, I had forgotten how it felt.  She tried to pull away at first, and I growled slightly, leaning back into her.  No, not yet.  I made my point with my tongue, drawing hers into my mouth and sucking possessively.  Finally, I released her mouth, letting her breathe.

“Oh, so that’s the me,” I held my breath.  Turning my head, I saw Mordred staring at my Altered Mordred.  Her expression was narrow and hot.  She stepped in closer and I could immediately feel animosity.  I looked at Mordred Alter, my Mordred, as her younger self closed in.  Her face was just as fierce.  “Finally decided to show up.  Thought Master was gonna have your fucking kid before your ass appeared.”

I felt Mordred Alter gently push me away and take a step towards Mordred.  As soon as I was away from her body, I watched my husband get punched so hard that she fell flat on her back.  Even with a twenty centimeter height difference, Mordred laid enough force in her fist to flat Mordred Alter out.  “What are you doing?” I shouted, incredulous as my king rose up from the ground slowly.

“I know I can take that punch, get the hell up,” Mordred bore her teeth and I stopped her immediately by standing between.  A rush of red filled her face.  “To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun.  Knights don’t take breaks.  King or no king, you’re a knight.”

I wanted to argue that it was my fault.  That I had been unable to do it.  But as I opened my mouth, Mordred Alter stood up behind me.

“You’re right.” She said closing the distance between me and Mordred.  She passed me and sank down to a knee, her head lowered to Mordred.  My heart leapt into my throat.  “I have failed as a knight, as a husband, as a father and king.” She spoke to the ground, not bothering to lift her head to Mordred.

Mordred’s clenched fist dropped, and she sighed.  “Shit, at least put up a fight.” She groaned, and ran her hand through her hair.  “Then - you know what you gotta do, right?  No one else can do it but you.”

The Alter rose to her feet, and looked down at Mordred carefully.  Faintly, though, there was a smile on her lips.  Their exchange was wordless, but even I knew the answer to that.  To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun.  Turning her head, my Mordred offered me her open palm as she always did.

And I took it.

[ fin ]

 

“A girl,” Florence said, wiping clean the child and gingerly placing her in my arms.  “A bit chubby, but completely healthy.”

Bleary from the delivery, I stared into my daughters green eyes and laughed.  They sparkled like her fathers did in her youth.  To my side, I saw my husband fret softly, hands useless in the air as she wondered what to do with them.  Afraid to touch, even if our child was a dragon.  Slowly, she extended her hand and hovered above her body as if checking her warmth.

“So small,” Mordred Alter cooed, her gold eyes glittering.  “Hello, hatchling, I’m your papa.”

Curiously, our Melehan reached out and grasped her father’s finger and chirped in laughter.  I had never seen my Mordred’s face light up in such a way, and I cherished it deeply.  “Melehan loves her papa.” I giggled, cradling our little life.  “Grandfather said she would be a great knight one day, just like her father.”

As Melehan relaxed, her hand slipped from Mordred Alter’s finger, and I swear I heard my husband choke up for a second.  Only after a moment of silence, she cleared her throat.  “No, Melehan will have a mother and a father that love her.” She said quietly, just barely touching the Melehan’s head with the flesh of her fingers.  “She will be better than her father.  Better than her grandfather.”

Mordred paused, looking from our daughter to me and smiled.  “Ritsuka, I love you.”

Knights do not tell lies.  In just the warmth of her gaze I felt my body relax and my heart overflow.  “I love you, my Mordred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the true and final chapter of the story! there were things i wanted to add originally but as i wrote, this became the natural conclusion. thanks everyone for making this piece such a pleasure to write. the feedback has been amazing, and i definitely will want to do more work with mordred alter and her child, melehan, in the future.
> 
> this was the most ambitious undertaking i've done so far, and i feel like i've really done what i wanted with it. i'm satisfied with the result and i'm hoping everyone else is too. please continue to read and support my past and future works, and for extra stuff take a visit to my [tumblr](http://ashforge.tumblr.com/).
> 
> finally, as i am currently unemployed for a variety of reasons including health, if you want to buy me a [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/E1E179AH) that'd be greatly appreciated.
> 
> thank you everyone for reading, i'll see you again with my next project!!

**Author's Note:**

> this is a terribly ambitious thing for me to do but it's also very self indulgent. see [mordred alter](http://ashforge.tumblr.com/tagged/mordred-alter) on my blog for more details.


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